


It's Just a Haircut

by ChapstickLez, Googlemouth



Category: Rizzoli & Isles
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-10 03:05:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2008569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChapstickLez/pseuds/ChapstickLez, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Googlemouth/pseuds/Googlemouth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One Shot (multiple chapters): Jane, Korsak, and Frankie get blown up. Romance, haircuts, bad smells, and misunderstandings ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Cut

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: Rizzoli & Isles is owned by Tess Gerritsen, Janet Tamaro, TNT, and so many other people and entities that we can’t keep them straight. Then again, they can’t keep Rizzoli or Isles straight, either, so that’s all right.
> 
> This was originally written with GoogleMouth, but when she went on hiatus and some real life things hit me harder than expected, I had no energy to finish it. The story idea came after I was at a burning building and just failed at getting the smell out of my clothes.

“Please?” Maura begged for the umpteenth time, managing to look both hopeful and mournful, as if trying to figure out which expression would wheedle Jane into doing what she wanted. “It’s so long and pretty, and you never let me play with it. Five minutes? At least let me braid it or something.” Her fingers were already twitching, Jane observed, clearly itching to get themselves tangled up in her already disorderly mop of hair.

It was going to be easier just to give in.

Jane sighed. “Okay, fine! You can braid it. God! Five minutes. No spray, no gel, no turning it into an entire hour with a curling iron or hot rollers, and absolutely **no** scissors.” That was a lesson she had painfully learned in high school during one of her few experiences with sleepovers: never let the other girls have free reign with one’s hair. Too-short bangs and uneven sides had been the price she paid for a full school year until it all grew out again.

Before she could even get the entire list of conditions out of her mouth, however, Maura had already sprung from her lounging position on the couch and sprinted to the bedroom, with a sigh of what sounded suspiciously like relief. “Thank you!” she gushed as she returned with a hairbrush, comb, and ponytail holder.

Within moments, Jane found herself sitting on the floor, in front of the couch, while Maura made quick, but gentle, work of the mass o’tangles Jane called hair. Far be it from Jane to admit that she actually enjoyed the attention, and certainly she wasn’t going to announce to Maura the warm fuzzy feeling in the pit of her … stomach. _Just call it your stomach, Rizzoli. Your best friend doesn’t need to know._

It had become increasingly awkward as of late. Maura just made Jane feel _good_. Loved. It was all the things her mother had told her she’d find, just not with a guy. And one might think Jane could just be happy about that, but she found herself getting increasingly more irritable, every time Maura went on a date. While the medical examiner was excellent at self-sabotaging her dates via diagnosis, Jane had taken to ‘helping’ her out by pointing out their shortcomings.

_I am a jealous shrew_ , thought Jane as she sighed.

Maura echoed the sigh. “It’s just so amazingly thick,” she sank, knuckle-deep in curls. “I always thought it must be mostly just curls that made it look so full, but it’s really not, is it?” Her voice was admiring, even as she added, “It’s like a pelt!”

Jane sighed, eyes rolling heavenward. Sometimes Maura’s compliments sounded insulting, if you didn’t know her well enough. “Thanks for implying that I’m some kind of wild animal, Maura. Yes, I’m hairy. Okay? Hey, at least I wax.”

“You do?” Maura’s hands paused, and she leaned far enough over for Jane to see a raised eyebrow full of implication. 

Blushing to her ears, Jane snapped back, “My upper lip and between my eyebrows! God!” She was sure that Maura was envisioning a Brazilian or god knew what. Not that Jane hadn't tried that. Once. It was like anal sex, though. Never again.

Maura just giggled, as if her theory was confirmed, and went back to what she clearly thought of as playtime. She tousled, brushed, fluffed, brushed again, finger-combed. It seemed she just could not get enough of getting to hold Jane’s hair. “It’s so soft, too,” she marveled. “I thought it would feel kind of dry, because I know you don’t take very conscientious care of it, but it’s really very healthy, except for a few split ends that need to be trimmed.”

“Again with the backhanded compliments,” Jane groused, resisting the urge to check her watch. The hair petting felt really nice. The annoyance was more because this was all things would ever be. 

When her phone rang, Jane was suddenly annoyed at the interruption, and awash with contradictions. _I need to get laid_ , she lamented mentally, _And I need to stop dating idiots. Maybe I’ll just get a better vibrator_. “Rizzoli.” After the initial greeting, she remained silent while Korsak gave her the relevant details on their perp, who had knifed and shot a total of three people so far, one of whom had just come out of post-surgery anesthesia and given information as to his hideout. “Maura, I gotta go. Someone spotted our guys.” She hopped to her feet and checked her hair... which was totally unbraided and possibly messier than before. “Really, Maura?”

“It was tangled,” protested Maura, getting up to come with.

Rolling her eyes, Jane grabbed her jacket. “You’re not coming.”

Maura looked surprised, and half-pouted. “Because I messed up your hair? Don’t be childish, Jane.”

“No, because we don’t have a body or even a crime scene yet. Just a rendezvous point.” Jane smiled and buckled her gun on, then corralled her hair up into her ass-kicking ponytail of justice. “We want to get his supplier, too. I’ll call you as soon as we take him down, but it probably won’t be till tomorrow. But I’ll tell you what. If we get the guy and his supplier, I’ll let you do that again sometime. Ten minutes.”

Though somewhat mollified by the promise of more girl time with Jane’s hair, Maura sighed in disappointment. All she said was a simple “Be safe.”

* * *

Silence.

The world was silent save for the pounding in her ears that assured Jane that she was actually alive, and the high-pitched whistling of tinnitus. The whooshing and pounding was her own blood, her own heart. _Jesus, who dropped a house on me?_ wondered Jane. The world was vibrating, as if she’d been inside an enormous bell while it was forcefully rung. There was no way she was going to try sitting up just yet.

Closing her eyes tightly to the vertigo, Jane concentrated on breathing, feeling more than hearing the air whoosh in and out of her lungs. _Okay, Rizzoli. Inventory. Hands?_ She opened her eyes and lifted her arms. Two hands, scarred as expected, but abnormally filthy. Good; they were still there. _Clothes? Yeah, I see my jacket._ She carefully lifted her head and saw she had on pants and shoes. Wiggling her feet, Jane assured herself that she wasn't paralyzed. Everything hurt, however. Her back was killing her, both knees throbbed, and her arm felt like the time Tommy ran over it on his Big Wheel.

"Crap, I hurt," she muttered. Or thought she did. There was no sound. "Hello?" she tried louder. Still no sound. "Oh my god, I'm deaf!" she yelped, and hauled herself up to sitting. The world spun for a moment, threatening vomit, and Jane spotted a dazed Korsak, face in the dirt, left ankle sticking out at a painfully strange angle. _Oh, God, no. Vince!_ She crawled over, trying to ignore the fact that the world was wobbling (do they have earthquakes in Massachusetts?), and pressed two fingers to his neck. Before she found a pulse, he batted at her hand.

Jane could have cried in relief, but instead helped Vince sit up. His mouth moved, but Jane heard nothing. Just as she was about to explain how she'd gone deaf, Vince's face paled and he mouthed, clear as day, "I'm deaf!"

There was a slight ringing in Jane's ears, and on the edge of her awareness, a siren. A fire truck, if the pattern was what she thought it was. Grabbing Vince by the shoulders she shook him and shouted, as loud and as clear as she could, "Are you okay?" It was like listening through cotton. She could hear sound, faintly, but not words.

"What?" shouted Vince, and she could just barely hear him. They both mimed pointing at their ears, looked relieved, and then turned to see what had happened.

The warehouse was leveled. _Please don't let them blame me_ , prayed Jane, and she remembered what had happened. _We followed the killer into his lab. He shot something by Frankie and... Oh shit! Frankie! Ma's gonna kill me!_ How could she forget her own brother?

Panicked, Jane got to her feet by pure willpower and swayed. _Don't vomit, don't pass out,_ she ordered herself and looked around. There was a shoe... There was a foot with a sock. The socked foot was attached to a leg. The leg was still attached to a person who was slowly moving into a sitting position. The unmistakable head of her younger brother rose from the ground, bloody, dazed, and entirely bewildered. Jane flashed him a thumbs up, which he returned, shakily. Good. Everyone who mattered was alive.

Sitting back down, because it just felt better, Jane pulled her phone to and texted Cavanaugh. _I think we need the EMTs._

Seconds later, he replied. _I should have known that boom was you._

* * *

By the time the firemen arrived, put out the fire, and got the detectives wrapped in blankets sitting on the bumper of the ambulance, some hearing had returned. Enough to have a conversation, though the ringing in her ears was monumental. Korsak’s ankle was broken, and they were going to take him to the ER, along with Frankie, who’d hit his head on something. The EMT told Jane she should see her doctor, but she seemed all right. Of course, the others were all getting their hearing back, and Jane still felt half deaf. Her right ear was useless.

"What kind of lab was it?" she asked Maura, who looked adorable in a blue Tyvek suit, booties, and a mask dangling around her neck. She was like a human-sized, blue bunny. Okay, there was a distinct possibility Jane was a little loopy.

"Your killer was brewing meth and smuggling," sighed the doctor, pushing the hood off and letting her ponytail of justice bounce. Her voice was a little too soft, and Jane wasn’t entirely sure that she’d heard things correctly, but ‘smuggler’ seemed right. Maura inspected Jane's face again, studying it carefully.

"I'm okay, Maura," Jane insisted. "Got my bell rung, and everything keeps tilting, but I'll live."

"You don't seem to have a concussion..."

"Lab. Topic. Please." Pressing a hand to her head, Jane wondered when the painkillers were going to kick in. She felt worse than she had when shot, though probably because she was still awake. “Meth and extreme stupidity is why it blew up, I know that, but what were they smuggling?”

"Synthetic deer urine."

Jane was sure she misheard that one, "What? Sorry, this ringing... I thought you said deer urine.” And she just wasn’t sure which was a worse concept. Pee, or deer pee.

"I did." Maura's lips moved precisely, clearly, enunciating every word without exaggeration, making it easy to understand. "Synthetic deer urine. Hence the smell."

There was a smell? Jane couldn't smell anything at the moment, but remembered that there had been **a** smell when she and the guys had gotten here. Something rank. "Oh." Well, she was going to have to burn these clothes, that was for damn sure.

Maura held up a finger and moved it back and forth in front of Jane's eyes. "You don't appear to have a concussion..." she repeated.

Wearily, Jane remarked "You already said that.”

"I'm not certain. They can be hard to diagnose." This launched Maura on a long, complicated explanation of head trauma which, even if Jane hadn't felt like crap, she probably wouldn't have been able to follow. "And you're not listening," concluded Maura, looking put out.

"Maura, I just got blowed up,” she whined.

"Blown."

"That's what she said."

Maura frowned at Jane. "You shouldn't drive yourself home."

"You offering?" Korsak had driven them there. Someone would take his car home, no doubt. This was one time Jane didn’t have to think about it.

"I have to process the scene," Maura pointed out, and Jane sighed. “You should go to the hospital.”

"Can't the evidence van just drop me off on the way?" muttered Jane, knowing that Maura would complain that Jane might contaminate the evidence. “Go process the crime scene, Maura. I’m okay.”

Normally this would have begun a long argument, but thankfully Maura’s technicians distracted her with questions, and Jane was left alone. In the end, Jane got a ride back from a uniformed officer who kept wrinkling her nose at Jane. It was all Jane could do, once she got inside, to shower and collapse on the bed, thankful that her mother had 'borrowed' Joe for some excursion with the other moms.

* * *

The first phone call Maura got the next morning was from Korsak, home with a broken ankle. The second was from Angela, who was angry and staying with Frankie who had been kept in the hospital with a major concussion. Jane did not call Maura or her mother, which attributed to some of Angela’s annoyance. "Something's wrong, Joe," she told Jane's dog. "Come on, how about I take you home to Jane?"

As soon as Maura said 'Jane,' the dog barked happily and ran around in circles, circumnavigating the kitchen island, Maura’s feet (separately and together), and the living room couch. After she saw Jane leave the crime scene, Maura knew there was no way her best friend would want to deal with a hyper puppy. Since Angela had gone to the ER, Maura simply took over dog sitting. Maura swiftly collected her supplies and drove to Jane's.

Thinking about the hours that had passed, and Jane had not visited the ER or her own doctor, Maura became more concerned that something terrible had happened. The explosion had caused considerable damage to both Vince and Frankie, both of whom complained about impaired hearing, and Maura was certain Jane had not escaped unscathed. The fear was high, and not unreasonable, that she was going to find a comatose Jane in her apartment. Or worse.

"Hello, Jane?" she asked as she unlocked the door. A powerful stench assaulted her, and both Maura and Joe recoiled from the pile of clothing sitting in a box in Jane’s entryway. The box was clearly labeled ‘BURN ME.’ The shower was running and she could hear Jane cursing. "This is not good," Maura told Joe, "but at least she’s alive."

Experience told Maura not to be quiet as she opened cabinet doors, fed and watered Joe, and made sure the smell wasn't a dead body in the kitchen. "Maura? Is that you?" shouted Jane, the water still running. "You might want to make a break for it. It’s really bad here."

Oh good, Jane wasn't nose-deaf. "That's why I'm here, Jane." Purposefully, Maura strode to the bedroom (was that a new bed? again?) and then the bathroom and hesitated outside the door, "How's your hearing?"

"A lot of ringing." sighed Jane. "Lot of stinking, too. Really, you should bail. I reek."

"I brought you body wash."

"Maura, honey, I don't think your froufrou body wash is going to help here."

"It's what I use to wash off the scent of dead bodies, Jane," Maura pointed out.

There was only a moment of hesitation, "God, I love you. Get in here and help a sister out!"

Maura pushed the door open, and paused. New shower curtain. It was no longer opaque white plastic, but a clear translucent vinyl that allowed the doctor to catalogue a series of rather impressive bruises all over Jane’s body. 

She must have catalogued for a few seconds too long, because Jane’s voice was impatient as she demanded, “Well? Gimme the body wash!” Jane stuck a hand out from behind the curtain but kept the rest of herself behind it, as if she thought it was a much better shield her than it actually was.

In the sink already were a dozen desiccated lemons, a bottle of lemon dishwashing soap, and a near-empty bottle of Jane's normal shampoo. "I see you’ve tried the normal remedies," observed Maura, handing over the body soap and doing her best not to look too much at her naked friend, and make the entire thing even more uncomfortable. “Lemon is actually a wonderful choice for removing scents. It cuts the oils that carry the scents, and it encourages the hair shaft to release--”

"Hey, I remember what you say," grunted Jane, and started scrubbing again. She was moving stiffly. "The lemons stung like a mother, and I swear, I'm scrubbing my whole outer epidermis off."

It was so cute when Jane tried to speak scientifically. "You mean the outer layer of skin, which is dermis. Epidermis is the specific name for the outer layer of skin cells. The second-most layer is called the inerdermis--" Maura rambled on as she lingered by the door, trying to decide if she was supposed to leave now. It didn’t any good to ogle, however circumspectly, her best friend. It wasn’t easy not to, though, as Jane had an amazing body.

Jane cut her off, though not entirely un-gently. "I think my skin's okay, except for a billion nicks and bruises. Will you smell me? I can't tell anymore." The arm stuck back out of the curtain, but this time Jane's head followed. The other hand held the curtain back, in a veneer of completely useless modesty. At least her face wasn’t bruised. (And, Maura remembered from her initial perusal, there was an entire lower leg that had somehow escaped the damage as well.)

_In for a penny, in for a pound,_ sighed Maura and she sniffed Jane's arm. “Hm. No, you smell…” _You smell wonderful, my friend._ But that was something she would not, could not say aloud, no matter how true it was that the lemon scented bodywash complemented Jane’s natural scent in ways that circumvented Maura’s rational brain. "...fine. Give it one more wash and another good scrub with my body wash and a brush or loofah, especially around the fingernails, toenails, elbows, heels, and anywhere else you’ve got calluses. They’ll have absorbed more of the scent.”

"Oh believe me, I won't neglect my... horny elbows," Jane grumbled as Maura chuckled, vanishing behind the curtain. As she scrubbed, she kept talking. "I have to burn my clothes. Washed them twice before I realized nothing was going to help that. Thank God for incinerators in old buildings. At least it was my older suit, too, but damn, I was saving that money…”

"That's too bad.” It wasn't really too bad that those clothes had been lost, but it was bad for Jane’s finances to have to replace her clothing. Against all odds, Maura was learning to lie, in a manner of speaking. Well, not lie, her conscience corrected. Obfuscate. Misdirect. Lead Jane down the path of proper attire. “We should go shopping and replace them."

"Leave it to you to look on the bright side," chuckled Jane. "Besides, you hated that suit.” All the lying in the world would never trick Jane, it seemed.

Clearly Jane didn't want her to leave, so Maura picked the lemons out of the sink and tossed them in the trash, then fussed about, neatening the placement of things on the sink surround. The smell was either lessening or she was getting used to it. "I did," agreed Maura. "The cut really didn't flatter you. But the color was nice. You look good in charcoal grey, and the pinstripe made it look retro and very sharp."

"Yeah, yeah." Jane stopped scrubbing and took a deep, very audible, sniff. "Damn it, I can’t even tell anymore. Here, smell my hair." It was nearly a wail as Jane held her head out from the shower, dribbling on the bath mat, for Maura to sniff.

Maura leaned in, saying, "It can't smell that ba-- Oh, my God," Maura gagged midway through that big, healthy sniff, covering her mouth and backing rapidly away. While Maura had dealt with countless autopsies, including some of human soup, she never imagined such a rank smell would come from Jane, but apparently she was wrong: Jane could, and did, smell that bad. Maura thrust the shampoo bottle at Jane and turned away, trying not to feel betrayed by the power and objectionability of the stench.

Jane cursed as she scrubbed at her hair, again and again, until finally she announced, "I'm going to have to shave it all off, aren't I?" She slapped the water off and reached past Maura for her towel, scattering water droplets over the shorter woman’s dress sleeve, and surprisingly unmodest. "I give up, it's a lost cause."

The idea of Jane bald wasn't entirely unappealing, given her best friend’s strong jawline and other facial features, but she rather did love the detective's thick, dark hair. She was torn. "Perhaps all is not lost. You have the cheekbones... Let me call André."

"Why does that scare me?" sighed Jane, ushering Maura out of the bathroom and winding the towel around herself.

"Because you're a philistine."

Jane narrowed her eyes at Maura. "When I figure out what you called me, I'll have a snappy comeback." And she closed her bedroom door to, one hoped, put on clothes.

In the meantime, Maura dialed André and just hoped he had an opening. "Hello, it's Maura Isles, and I have an code red."

* * *

“Seriously, Maura, where are you taking me?” Jane was irritable, as she often was, but with more reason at the moment. She was still deaf in that one ear, still headachy, a bit waterlogged from the excessive showering, and insecure about the nasty smell in her hair. Also now that she wasn’t in the hot water of her shower, or terrified about the smell that had turned out to be her, everything about Jane hurt. She hurt in places she didn’t know she had places. The short car ride had conspired to make her muscles start to stiffen.

“I told you,” Maura replied calmly as they turned off the freeway and onto a surprisingly quiet side street. “We’re going to a specialist. André is amazing. He can get rid of any smell in hair, and he’ll let you keep as much length as possible.”

Jane groused about the cost, whining, “There’s no way I can afford your hair guy. Come on, let me just go to Supercuts or something and shave it all off. I’ll look stupid, but at least I won’t go into debt.”

Complacently Maura parked the car, then turned in her seat to show Jane the steel in her eyes: she was taking no nonsense. “My treat. It’s not that expensive. No more excuses, Jane, come on.” More gently she added, “I know you think you hate your hair, but you’d miss it if you shaved it off completely. Let me do this for you.”

Eyeing her best friend, Jane knew a lost fight when she saw it. “Okay, fine,” she grumbled, and snapped off her seatbelt. As she jerked the door open, Jane paused and looked back, “I’m sorry. I’m just in a really bad mood. I smell bad, I can’t hear squat, and I feel like I got run over.” Worse, though she didn’t say it, was the little catch in her voice, indicating that she was perilously close to crying. Admit it or not, she was attached to her hair by more than just follicles and roots. It was a part of her identity. Change wasn’t something Jane did very often, as Barry once teased her, referring to her shoes.

Thinking about Barry was not a good road to go down when you're already depressed.

“You are bruised all over,” agreed Maura, confirming Jane’s suspicion that the doctor had more than just glanced at her in the shower, though Jane was at a loss as to what that might mean, and certainly in no place to process. Maura looped her arm through Jane’s and led her into the elegantly simple salon storefront. “It’s okay. I’ll forgive you your nastiness if you’ll let me do this, and one more thing, for you.”

Jane stopped moving. “ _What_ one more thing?” she demanded flatly.

“You’ll probably need to sit for a bit with anti-odor solutions and then conditioners on your hair. It’ll take a while. Instead of just sitting there, why don’t we both get pedicures?”

“Pedi--” Jane stopped and looked down at her feet. Then her hands. No, not her hands, she decided in a heartbeat, clenching her fists. “Actually that sounds kind of nice,” she admitted, almost ruefully. The soles of her feet hurt! “If I didn’t feel like total crap, I’d probably not even complain about a day at that silly spa, too...” She sighed and shook her head, wincing and pressing one hand to her right ear. That was starting to get worse, too. Crap.

Maura brightened and took hold of Jane’s hand once again, ushering her inside as she realized what that meant. “So you’ll go with me again?”

Jane sighed and walked into the salon, where she was immediately faced with the fittest, tannest, gayest man she’d ever met. Not one to judge people on appearances, it was impossible not to look at this man and not have your brain shout ‘GAY!’ Jane blinked as André, for it was he, introduced himself in flamboyant style, kissed Maura’s hand in a show of flirtation that was fooling no one, seeming to delight in the fact that no one took it seriously. 

Jane expected unicorns to start prancing through the room, covering everyone in glitter. It gave her a headache.

Steering Jane to a chair, and seeming to understand her pain, André was soothing. His bald head and sparkling eyes gave him a roguish and ageless air; he could have been thirty or fifty. “Now, honey, Maura has explained everything to me, so just put yourself in my hands and I will give you back your confidence.” 

Jane decided to go ahead and trust him for his accent alone: he didn’t sound like upper-crust Boston, but like a proud, working-class Southie. Maybe. She didn’t trust her hearing today, and the idea of a flamboyant Southie guy was curiously comforting and possibly hallucinatory. “Did Maura warn you about the smell? It gets worse when it gets wet.”

Maura pulled up a nearby stool and sat in the corner, with a fairly good vantage point but miraculously out of the way, as André nodded. “Yes, she did, so let me just get a sniff.” He did so, and the face he made would have been comical if he had not been so thoroughly _not_ exaggerating it. He swore beneath his breath and moved on to constructive things. “Right. I know exactly what we’re going to do.” 

His hands ran through the curls, much like Maura’s had the day before (had that only been yesterday?), but with more clinical interest; later, the contrast would be significant to Jane, but at the moment, she just waited for André’s assessment. “Okay. Well, it looks like your hair’s been damaged. You said,” he turned to Maura, “it was normally very healthy, so this must’ve happened in the incident, or during the failed treatments afterward.” Maura nodded. “So what we’ve got is damage up to about here.” He placed a finger on Jane’s shoulder blade, just about halfway between the shoulder top and the bottom of the shoulder blade. “What I have to do to get rid of the smell will probably turn anything below this level very brittle.”

Jane frowned, not hearing half of what André said and understanding less than half of the other half. “So it’s going to be pretty short, no matter what?”

André confirmed her fears. “That’s the longest it will stay. But!” His hands slapped together excitedly. “If I cut it shorter, then straighten it, it’ll look so sharp. Look at your _cheekbones_ , though! Maura’s no liar. You could carry off baldness or short hair, or a bob, or just about any length. So what would you like?”

Maura looked antsy, just barely refraining from giving input. She was squirming so much with the need to offer an opinion that it almost looked like she needed the ladies’ room. Jane watched her via the mirror, and from her vantage point, Maura was behind André, wiggling like a first grader before recess. What on earth was she on about? There was no point in asking, Jane barely heard one word in ten of what André said, and she did not wish to explain her ear to Maura right now. “Damage. It’s from the lemon. I was trying to get the smell out,” she explained, stalling for time as she thought about what to do. Jane looked at her reflection thoughtfully. If her hair was just short, it would kink, curl, frizz, and balloon like Bozo the Clown. But if it was straight... “André, have you ever watched _Law & Order_? The one with Detective Benson?”

Maura’s eyes widened as all her squirming stopped, the lack of motion catching Jane's eye.

“You mean Detective Butchy McFabulous?” André corrected with a wink. “Season one, or season two? With or without the D.A. in the back?”

“D... A?” She shook her head again and winced. Damn it. That still hurt. Why was the world wobbling every time she jiggled her head? “Uh. Two. Without the dangly stuff in the back.”

“Without the D.A.” André nodded firmly.

Before André picked up his scissors, Jane fished her cell phone out and pulled up a picture. “What about that? Just go short, and let it stick up? But kind of like this...” Finding a photo of 'Olivia Benson's Hairstyles by Season,' Jane was able show André what she meant.

A few more little concept-refining questions and comments, and André got to work in the quickest way possible: he pulled out his largest pair of scissors, took Jane’s hair in hand as if making a ponytail, and simply cut it right off at the nape of her neck. “There we go, sweetie. Band-Aid ripped.” Off it went, into the garbage.

Jane stiffened, her hands reaching up the back of her neck to find... nothing. “Woah... Did the world do something?” One hand crept up to the back of her head and touched the wisps of hair. “Oh my god... Ma’s gonna kill me.”

“Defiance of parental expectations can feel good,” André promised with a grin as he switched from scissors to a set of razorblades, one on each finger like steel guitar picks, that made him look like miniature Edward Scissorhands. It was a bit nerve-wracking at first, but once Jane realized he wasn’t even coming close to cutting her skin, it was freakishly easy to close her eyes and trust. And with her eyes closed, Jane couldn’t see Maura’s open-mouthed stare at the emerging style.

 


	2. The Higher The Hair...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story does take place after Frost's death, however just ignore Casey. There was no pregnancy scare. That's another story. I won't be dealing with Frost's death in this story for personal reasons. Too close to me right now.

Agnostic, non-believer, scientist. All these things were Maura Isles. She was rational, logical, and studious. And yet her inner voice was caroling loudly  _There is a god!_

Jane's hair was short, stylish, and sexy enough to make Maura squirm in her seat so much the manicurist snapped at her. It had taken until the rough cut was done for Maura to compose herself, and while André painted Jane's hair with a dye exceptionally close to natural, she eased into the chair beside Jane. "It looks nice," she said honestly, if a bit understated.

"Uh huh," sighed Jane, who was slouched in her seat. Maura knew her well enough to know that Jane was tired and in pain, but as the dye set and the pedicures began, Jane closed her eyes and adopted a pose familiar to Maura.

"That's an interesting take on baddha konasana," offered Maura, hopefully. Jane cracked one eye open and smiled. "It's almost over, Jane. Then you should come over to my house and I'll make dinner."

An abnormal length of time passed before Jane replied, "Yeah, that sounds nice. I really just want to sleep. Cavanaugh said I'm not allowed to come back until next week anyway." Jane yawned and looked down, "I gotta say, my feet feel great."

Not pressing her luck, Maura did not suggest the manicure, and signaled the esthetician to not ask either. While time consuming, the corrections to Jane's hair passed by easily, and it was still early afternoon by the time they headed out to the parking lot.

Jane ran her hands through her hair. "Okay, you were right. It smells good. And I like it. Makes me feel kind of free."

Maura smiled, admiring Jane's new look with warm eyes. "You look gorgeous, Jane." André had done a phenomenal job on Jane's hair, making her normally strong features even more prominent. It was hard not to find her best friend stunning. This was not 'Butchy' McFabulous, this was just fabulous.

Apparently feeling better, Jane shot Maura a saucy little grin and shook her head, just like she did when tossing her long hair, "I bet you say that to all-" Before Maura could react, before Jane could even finish her sentence, the detective was down on one knee, hand braced on the front bumper of the nearest vehicle, looking like she was about to throw up. The curses that soon spewed forth (thankfully, in lieu of actual regurgitation) were inventive, muffled from one hand over her mouth and the other over her right ear.

"Jane? Oh no." Maura quickly turned back and squatted by her friend. "Are you dizzy?" Jane had been wincing all day long when turning her head, and especially any time she'd tried to shake her head. Maura had planned to talk Jane into letting her inspect the ear after dinner, but this was not good.

"Uh huh," groaned Jane, her eyes pressed closed. "Oh god, I'm gonna throw up." She started to swallow, and Maura scooted to the side, holding Jane up a bit. There was a heave, but no actual vomiting. Jane slowly took her hand away from her ear and looked at the fluid. Yellow and red. "Am I dying?" she asked Maura, all but thrusting the hand at her friend.

Maura took the hand and wrinkled her nose at the smell. "No, but you are going to the hospital. Your eardrum seems to be perforated." There was the deer urine scent, but also earwax. Likely a natural plug was preventing the perforation from becoming problematic earlier. Jane looked mournfully at her hand, but a little relieved that it was something relatively mundane. "Can you stand? I'll help you."

"Can't you just bring the car over while I sit here?" pleaded Jane, looking at the car, twenty feet away, as if it were ten miles.

Maura shook her head. "No. Cars can't see you when you're low to the ground, which means someone could back up and run over you. At the very least, you have to stand up and lean on another car while you wait for me."

They struggled together to get Jane standing, at which point André and another stylist rushed out to assist. With the help of two strong gentlemen, Jane was eased into the car and a towel provided to hold against her ear. They were not lucky enough to miss Jane vomiting, and insisted she drink some water and natural ginger fizzy water (for her stomach) before letting Maura drive off to the hospital.

Their progress to an ENT specialist was expedited by Jane throwing up over the nurse's shoes, prompting the battered and bruised detective to remark as to how vomit really made people hurry up. "Well at least you have your sense of humor," sighed Maura, holding Jane's free hand and gently stroking it. She had suggested, twice, that she leave. Both time Jane had clung to her hand like a drowning woman.

"What?" replied Jane, eyes focusing on Maura's lips.

There was a knock at the door before Maura could reply to Jane, and instead she called out 'Come in.' and the door was opened. "Hello again, Jane," smiled the doctor, pulling over a stool. "Your hair looks amazing. Is this related to the explosion yesterday?"

"What?" asked Jane, miserably.

The doctor looked over at Maura expectantly. "Yes," she sighed, sitting nearby, and on the side with Jane's good ear. "She shook her head while we were walking to the car, and fell down. Suffering from vertigo, nausea, and pain. She's had diminished hearing in that ear since the incident, and complained of tinnitus. I believe she's ruptured her eardrum."

"Well that's not good," agreed the doctor, and got Jane to roll onto her back so he could inspect her ear. "Oh yes, it's torn, all right. Would you like to look, Dr. Isles?" Maura hesitated, knowing how little Jane liked having her medical woes enjoyed or her privates (any area of her body that couldn't be seen with the naked eye while she was fully clothed, today's shower escapade not withstanding) discussed, but then leant over to inspect Jane's ear.

Muttering under her breath, Jane's commentary was amusing. "I'm glad this is such a fun class project."

Maura took Jane's free hand, comfortingly, moving to her good side. "He's going to have to clean your ear out to see if you need surgery to patch it."

"Patch?" Jane looked worried and reached for her ear. At least she heard that.

"It's not that large a hole, Jane," assured the doctor. "I'm going to clean it out, remove some debris, and we'll see. Most of the time these things heal on their own, but if you have an infection, you'll need surgery."

Jane's worried face got worse, so Maura hurried to reassure her. "Myringoplasty is a very simple procedure, Jane. They'll put you under with general anesthesia, apply a thin piece of paper or an adip-"

The doctor cut Maura off. "Actually I prefer to do it with a local and an adipose plug. It's an outpatient surgery, so you don't even have to stay at the hospital overnight. You shouldn't be home alone, though." The doctor gave Maura a meaningful look and went to check Jane's other ear.

Without seeing the look, Jane sighed, "Can I stay at your place, Maura? Then Ma won't worry."

"Of course, Jane." She'd already started to nod.

The doctor looked surprised but shook his head. "Your other ear look bruised, but fine." He ignored Jane's snide remark of how she'd bruised everything. "It looks like you had a natural wax plug protecting the tear, but it was loosened, probably by your every day movements, and fell out, unblocking the fluids."

"English?" asked Jane, looking at Maura.

Obligingly, Maura explained "Your ear uncorked itself."

Jane looked disgusted and the doctor smiled, "I'll be right back with a tray."

As he left them alone, Jane sighed. "Will you call Cavanaugh? I'm going to be out for a while, I think."

"At least a week. Two, if you require surgery." Maura brushed the hair away from Jane's forehead. "Are you feeling less nauseated?"

"So long as I don't move, yeah." Jane's eyes were closed, and she kept hold of Maura's hand while Maura explained to Cavanaugh what was going on. The lieutenant was more than understanding, and assured Maura that Crowe would cover the cases for the time being. Maura relayed this to Jane who sighed, relieved. "Good. God, who's watching Korsak?" she wondered as Maura hung up.

"Vince said he was a grown man and was fine, so he's probably covered in cats and stuck on his couch," Maura remarked and Jane laughed and winced. "Just try to stay still. I'm sure they'll give you some pain killers."

The doctor returned with a nurse and supplies. "Okay, we're going to remove some wax and debris first. I need you to stay still."

"Like I'm going to wiggle while you stick things in my ear," grumbled Jane. She closed her eyes and took a firmer grip on Maura's hand. She didn't wiggle or wince as the doctor removed a sizable waxen plug from her ear. "Oh," she sighed, surprised. "That feels better."

"Just wait," assured the doctor, and he peered into her ear. "Ah, you have an infection, Jane."

With a whine, Jane asked, "Already?"

"It doesn't take long for cuts to get infected," he mused, and gently reached in again to remove another plug of wax. Then a third. Then he gently blotted her ear. Maura leaned over Jane to peer at the results, and saw the fluid. "The canal is even more swollen than it looked. Most of that wasn't wax." He eased a wick into Jane's ear and dribbled fluid down it, causing Jane to yelp.

"It's for the infection," Maura explained, soothingly.

Jane's eyes, wide open now and level with Maura's cleavage, narrowed. "It stings and it's cold. I thought I was going to get a pain killer."

"In a minute," demurred the doctor, applying more antibiotics and looking again. "I don't like the look here. Hold her hand."

Maura sat back down and covered Jane's hand with both of her own. "He's going to give you a local, Jane."

Jane winced and said nothing as the doctor swabbed the area with a topical analgesic, and then injected a local. "It's like I'm at the dentist for my ear," she sighed, while they waited for the painkillers to kick in.

"You're very brave. Do you want a lollipop?" joked the doctor, arranging his instruments. Maura caught Jane's other hand before she replied with a gesture.

* * *

Settling Jane on the couch, Maura asked, for the umpteenth time, if Jane was okay. "Maura, please. I just want to sit down and not move for a little while, okay?" She almost bit the reply through her teeth. It wasn't going to do her any good getting pissed off at Maura, who was already bending over backwards for her.

"Sit," Maura agreed. "I'm going to make us something to eat. I think Joe's ready to give you another chance. Would you like to watch the game?"

As Joe crawled up to Jane, sniffing and sneaking, as if this could avoid any possible stench, Jane groaned. "I don't even care." She absently patted her lap and the dust mop jumped up onto the couch.

Maura looked concerned. "I'll go get you a painkiller," she decided, but not before turning on the television and finding the basketball game. Only Maura would buy the all sports package just for her best friend. The volume was left low, and Jane mumbled a thank you as she propped herself up leaning to the right.

Moments later, Maura returned with water and a towel. "Really? You think anything's gonna make it past the Princess Leia?" asked Jane, gesturing at her ear-protector, but taking the towel obediently none the less.

"You can have one now, and one right before bed. Let me know if you have any reaction other than the lessening of pain."

Ah, it was Doctor Isles. Jane really preferred fun Maura. Stern Dr. Isles was only fun when she was aimed at someone else. Jane took the painkiller and popped it right away, before downing half the water. "It's weird enough when your mouth is numb, but I can  _taste_  my ear being numb." Joe snuffled and inched her way into Jane's lap, where there was more petting. Clearly Jane was well trained.

"The Eustachian tubes are directly connected to the throat," Maura agreed without further explanation, and retreated into the kitchen.

The basketball game raged in the background, fans roaring and commentators over-enunciating their delight in tired clichés. Over its sound, which was kept at medium volume so Jane could hear it but not be pained by the high decibel levels (thank you Maura), she could hear the faint chop-chop-chop-chop of the vegetable knife slicing through carrots and hitting the wooden cutting board over and over. It was nice that some of her hearing was coming back. The doctor had swabbed her other ear, just in case, and it was feeling much better. Maura was slicing more slowly than usual, the pace irregular. After a few minutes, Jane distinctly heard, "Damn."

When Jane looked up to see what that  _whoops_  was about, Maura was eying her fresh manicure with a frown. "Did you cut yourself?"

"Almost, but no. The knife pierced the edge of my new polish, though. I shouldn't have been so distracted."

"A tragedy," agreed Jane, sarcastically. As she turned back to the game that she was, ostensibly, watching, Jane closed her eyes and waited for the room to stop swaying. "Maura, I'm going to lie down," she said, as her upper body settled on the couch. Jane didn't even take her shoes off as she and Joe settled in a comfortable position. The dizziness was not new, so she didn't have to tell Maura about it as an 'adverse reaction' to the pain killers.

"Just keep the towel by your ear, and turn your head so the injured ear is the one pointing downward," Maura replied as she went back to salad making. Half smiling that Maura hadn't noticed the shoes on the couch, Jane pulled the towel's end over her face and closed her eyes.

"Mmhm." That was all the sense that came out of Jane for the entire time Maura was finishing up dinner. She could smell the food, but had no energy with which to remark or comment. She just lay on the couch, Joe curled up behind her knees, and wondered why it was okay for the dog, who walked on everything in bare feet, to have her paws on the couch, but not Jane's sneakers?

In a drugged haze, Jane heard her mother cry out "Thank God!" and Maura's answering yelp and shush. "I've been looking for Janie. She's not answering her phone, her apartment's empty, and it  _smells_."

"Explosion in a dear urine factory-slash-meth lab," Maura explained in quieter tones, though Jane could still hear her. "Jane is mostly fine, but her ear has an injury that's playing merry havoc with her balance and hearing, and it hurts. She'll be staying here because her doctor didn't want her to be alone for at least a week. Would you care to have dinner with us? I made a chicken Caesar salad. There's enough for three."

Angela's voice was frowning. Funny how you could hear those things in voices. "And no one thought to call me? Even Vince called to ask me to tell everyone he was okay - You know Jane's got a towel on her head and she's still wearing her shoes?"

"Shoes?" There was actual alarm in Maura's voice. Jane would have laughed had she the energy. Footsteps clattered on tile and then carpet, before Maura gently nudged Jane's shoulder. "Jane," she murmured in Jane's good ear. "I need you to take your feet off the couch." She moved the towel off Jane's head and repeated herself. "Feet off the couch, honey. Come on." She clicked her tongue, which was annoying.

With her head no longer covered by the towel, Jane grumbled. "Tired," she complained, but stuck both feet off the edge of the couch. There were no protests as Maura pulled the battered sneakers off Jane's feet, and once bare, wedged them back on the couch. She didn't even twitch when Maura ran a hand over her newly shorn locks to soothe her back to sleep; the line of half-awake frustration eased between her eyes, but that was it.

It was very strange to be mostly aware of everything that was going on, but completely unable, and unwilling, to partake in it. As Jane thought that, her tenuous grip on awareness faded away into comforting, hopefully restorative, sleep.

* * *

Angela glanced over at the motion and started opening cabinets. "She's really miserable," remarked the Rizzoli matron, plunking flour on the counter. "That salad's not going to cut it."

"What do you mean?" asked Maura, surprised. Her hand lingered on Jane's forehead. "It's extremely healthy."

"When she was eight, she got meningitis," explained Angela, collecting potatoes from the drawer. "She was miserable for weeks. Get me some eggs, please?"

"Viral or bacterial?" asked Maura, covering Jane's head again with the towel, since it seemed to comfort her, and headed back to the kitchen to assist Angela with taking over.

"Spinal."

Maura pulled out the eggs and corrected Angela, "That's the same thing as just meningitis. People call it spinal because it causes swelling around the brain and spinal cord-"

"No one cares, Maura," whined Jane from the couch, startling Maura.

"She's not awake," Angela remarked, taking the eggs. "And it was a bacteria, I think." Maura chose not to correct  _a bacteria_  to the correct singular,  _a bacterium._  "She had to get a spinal tap, and was in the hospital for a few days. Anyway, when she could eat again, the only thing that made her not grumpy was gnocchi." Angela clucked her tongue, "She wouldn't ask for it, of course, just sat on the couch, or her bed, looking miserable."

When Jane muttered 'gnocchi' Maura frowned. "Are you sure she's asleep?"

"Oh yeah. Watch." Angela cleared her throat, "That guy has a cute tushie."

"No one cares, Ma," grumbled Jane, shifting on the couch. Angela gestured with her hands and started mixing.

"She won't remember talking like that either. It's kind of cute, if it wasn't so sad," sighed Angela, and she shook her head. "The pink stuff makes her talk in her sleep."

With great skill, Angela began to prepare the ingredients for gnocchi. Jane would have said her mother cooked with love, but Maura was certain it was experience and talent. "What pink stuff?"

"Amoxicillin. All three of the kids are the same way. Put them on it, they sleep talk and snore." Angela paused and grinned, "When Janie got sick, we all had to take these pills, since we didn't know how she got it. And there are side effects, you know, turning your pee orange." Angela chuckled as Maura spoke the last half of the sentence in near-perfect unison with her, though Maura said urine instead of pee. "By the time we got everyone back home, it was late at night, and we just gave the boys the pills and tucked them in bed. The next morning, Tommy was screaming in the bathroom, saying that he was dying."

Maura tried not to smirk, "Angela, that's terrible!"

"It was funny. Even Tommy thinks its funny now. Besides, what's the fun of having kids if you can't laugh at their antics?"

Sitting on a stool, Maura smiled, "I thought most children were accidents."

"Janie was," admitted Angela. "Didn't she tell you?" There wasn't a safe answer to that, so Maura just lifted her eyebrows. "Janie was born in September. Frank and I were married in March."

"What year?" Maura knew Jane was born almost a year after her own birthday.

"Same year." Angela tsked softly and put the pot on the burner. "I thought my mother was going to kill me. There I was, a good girl, twenty-two, had a job and a steady boyfriend. And then, oops! Janie."

"Nobody cares, Ma."

Looking over at the couch fondly, Angela added, "I don't regret it at all. I wouldn't trade Janie for anything." Before things got too deep and loving, Angela brusquely went on. "You might want to get her up and eat that salad. It'll probably take you as long to do that and get her in jammies and get you ready for bed. She  _is_  staying here, right?"

"Of course." Maura looked at Jane's sleeping form. "It's only five, Angela. It's a little early to get into sleeping attire."

Shrewdly, Angela asked "You got plans to go somewhere?" When Maura allowed she did not, Angela nodded firmly. "Get Janie up, cleaned, and in her jammies. Trust me, she's gonna take wrangling." Angela finished putting the potatoes in the pot with finality.

There was no point arguing with Angela, and Maura gently shook Jane's shoulder. "Jane." The return grunt wasn't helpful. "Jane, you should get up." Another grunt and Jane curled up more. Maura sighed and leant over more. "Jane, please wake up. I want to put you in something more comfortable." She turned the TV off, and had no reply from Jane.

From the kitchen, Angela watched this go on, but instead of remarking on Maura's kindness to Jane, she spotted something totally un-related. "Maura, how do you not get a panty line in that tight skirt?" wondered Angela.

Maura looked over her shoulder, "Oh, I'm not wearing panties. I'm wearing a thong."

"Whaaaah?" blinked Jane, looking up in bleary confusion.

Smiling cheerfully, Maura returned her attention to the woman on the couch as Angela smirked in the kitchen. "Oh, good, you're awake. Come on," her hands went to Jane's, then to her forearms, then her shoulders, in an effort to encourage uprightness. "Let's get you a shower and some pajamas."

"No," Jane pouted as she hunkered down in the couch cushions, but Maura was having none of that. Gentle or not, she would be obeyed.

"Up."

"No."

"Come on." Her tone was chipper and brooked no nonsense. More than once, Jane had told Maura that she was worse than one of those nuns that smiled all the time. "Do you need some help sitting up?"

Magic words. Jane might be in pain, but unless she was completely unable to do a thing for herself, there would be no admission of requiring assistance. "No, and stop grabbing me." She pulled her arm away, then let it be taken, accepting help all the way back towards the guest room, without admitting it was necessary in the least.

* * *

"Are you going to leave?" Jane asked Maura, hands paused at the hem of her shirt.

Maura shook her head. "Not until I can tell you won't need an extra pair of hands."

"At least turn around."

"I'm a doctor, Jane. I've seen it."

"Not mine."

"We shower together."

Jane waved a hand, dismissing the matter. "Gym's different. Nobody looks in locker rooms."

Maura's eyebrow rose. "I do." Of course she did. She probably went on long visual surveys to compare and contrast body shape and form, in order to see what exercises did what to whom.

Jane sighed and started lifting her shirt, turning her back. That is, until she couldn't lift her arms above her head. She hurt too much. "God, how did I even get this on today?" Silence was the answer, though if she'd turned around, she would have seen Maura's I-told-you-so smugness. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Well, are you going to help me or not?"

Maura held back her chuckle as she walked up behind Jane and lifted the weight of those tired, bruised arms herself. "Let me know if this hurts, and we'll figure out another way to get the shirt off."

"No, it's fine," Jane grumbled, hating how grateful she felt. "Just using the muscles is the hard part. I must have gone ass over teakettle."

"Judging by the number and placement of your bruises," Maura agreed, not without sympathy, "more than once. It must have been quite a tumble. Okay, I'm going to..." She climbed up onto the bed, standing, in order to pull the shirt up and over Jane's upwardly extended arms, then hopped back down as she tossed it into her own hamper. "Can you get the rest?"

"Maybe," Jane replied with another grimace. One of her arms slowly and laboriously began trying to slip up her own back towards her bra strap, but she winced and gave up, turning her back to Maura in request. "Or maybe not. Little help?"

One flick of Maura's finger parted the straps with a gentle snap.

"Whoa. You just did that."

"Yes."

Jane marveled. "Like, you got both hooks unfastened as easily as I can flip a light switch. You're better than Joey Tribbiani."

Maura's head tilted to one side. "Boyfriend?"

" _Friends,_ " Jane corrected, then had to explain, "I mean, there was a television show called  _Friends_  and Joey was one of the characters on the show. He did that with another character's dress once, but I've never heard of anyone doing that with bra hooks. How the hell do you do it that easy?"

Maura shorthanded a conversation they'd had more than once. "Easi _ly_. Adverb."

"Whatever. How?"

"Practice."

"I wish my junior year boyfriend had been that good at it. Or, you know," Jane added, "capable at all. Ten minutes, I swear, of nothing but wrestling with my hooks. At least ten minutes, and we just gave up and went back inside to dance. Junior prom sucked."

Maura chuckled. "Go shower," she advised. "Use the one in my room, so you can get the hand-held to reach your feet and down your back."

Pants undone, Jane froze. "You couldn't have said that  _before_  I got all naked?" Jane carefully picked her shirt back up and covered her front.

"I just thought of it," Maura explained. "I thought at first that you'd just take a bath instead, but then I realized how hard it would be for you to get safely into and out of the tub, and I doubt you'd accept help with that since you were shy about your shirt."

Jane glowered at Maura. "That's not why I don't want a bath. Baths are... for breakups and babies." Being neither, Jane attempted to walk off in a huff but given her limited range of motion, had to settle for a limping stride across the hall and, after a moment's hesitation, into Maura's bedroom. "You've been in here before, Jane," she muttered underneath her breath. Behind her, Maura said nothing, and Jane decided that she had not heard it.

Maura did eventually leave Jane to her own devices in the bathroom, but only after giving instruction. "Don't get your ear bandage wet at all. There's a shower cap. Use it. I'll be right out here, finding you some pajamas. Take your time. Don't try to shave; I don't want you cutting yourself if you get dizzy. If you think you might fall, call me. If I hear a thud or a crash, I'm coming in, with or without permission."


	3. Blondes Have More Fun

No one would admit it, but Angela had been right. Jane shuffled back into the living/dining/kitchen area nearly two hours after, and the gnocchi was ready to eat. "That smells good, Ma," muttered Jane, slouched in her hoodie sweatshirt and sweatpants.

"You're going to eat like that?" chastised Angela. She wasn't seriously annoyed, and put down the dishes to give Jane a quick hug.

Naturally Jane squirmed away. "Come on, Ma," she whined. "Maura picked them out." Before Angela could hug-attack her again, Jane slipped into a chair at the table and stared at the food like it would take a monumental effort to eat anything.

"How come you showered in Maura's bathroom?" asked Angela, sitting down on Jane's left side.

"She has a hand-held shower massager. I could wash without getting my head wet." Or lifting her arms, but she wasn't about to tell her mother that.

"And that was the best birthday present that I got last year, Jane, thank you." caroled Maura as she came in wearing a dressing gown over her silken pajamas. Maura gave Jane a brief hug before sitting down across from her and admiring the gnocchi. "This looks amazing, Angela. Thank you so much."

A heartbeat later, Jane caught on. "Oh, yeah, thanks, Ma."

Her poor daughter was feeling terrible and Angela resisted the urge to hug her again. They didn't hug much, except when Jane was terrified, ever since Hoyt. No. Longer than that. Jane had stopped letting Angela hug her when she stopped being a uniformed officer and started working Vice. None of that was something Angela wanted to dwell on. "Maura, did Janie buy you the shower head?"

"And installed it," confirmed Maura with a bright smile. "I'd mentioned that it was the one renovation I hadn't managed to complete yet. When I went to the medical conference in Washington DC, I came back to the shower head." The look Maura gave Jane was full of adoration.

Once, Angela used to look at Frank like that. She wondered if she and Sean looked like that, but suspected not. "That was very sweet Janie."

Jane shrugged. "Well it's not like I can buy her stuff she can't already afford. And in better quality."

"I still think it's sweet," repeated Angela, as Jane pushed the hoodie off her head. "And you're- Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Janie! What happened to your hair?"

"Huh?" asked Jane, as if she had no idea what Angela was talking about. One hand went up to her short hair, which was smooth and gently waved rather than sticking out in wild curls, like the time she got gum in her hair and Angela had cut it short. "Oh, yeah. The smell wouldn't come out, no matter what I did, and I was really frying it, so-"

"So I," Maura concluded happily, "took Jane to my salon and put her in André's care. I think he did a marvelous job, don't you?" As Jane's hand left her hair, Maura's replaced it, stroking back to demonstrate (and enjoy) its sleekness. "He's an artist, and I feel he managed to give Jane the perfect look to complement her features."

Angela frowned. It looked good, but change was bad. "Your beautiful long hair," she mourned.

"It was beautiful, wasn't it?" Maura agreed, but before Jane could protest the use of the past-tense verb of being, she went on, "But I think this is equally beautiful." A pause, while Maura rolled over the words in her mind until she found one with the right nuance. "Striking."

Bleary Jane focused on that word and gave Maura a curious look, while Angela huffed in defense of her daughter's attractiveness. "She's always been striking, just like me." Maura just smiled radiantly, and went to get a different drink. As soon as she was out of earshot, Angela leant forward. "So?"

Jane just stared at her mother. "What?"

"You're staying here, using her shower,  _installing_  things in her shower when she's not even here... Is there something you need to tell me, Janie?"

The blank expression on Jane's face hung in silence for a long time. Long enough for Maura to come back. Light dawned and Jane groaned, "Oh for- Ma, it's just a haircut!" Jane stabbed a gnocchi with ire for emphasis. "I knew this would happen," she added and angrily chewed.

Maura quizzically regarded Jane. "What would happen?"

Gesturing a little wildly with her fork, Jane pointed at her mother. "She thinks the haircut means I'm gay now."

"I never said that!" protested Angela, huffily. She thought Janie was bisexual a long time ago, but you try telling your stubborn mule of a daughter that.

Maura tipped her head to the side for a good, long, silent evaluation of Jane's appearance. "Hm," she eventually verbalized, then turned away so as to get herself a serving of gnocchi.

"Hm?" Jane repeated, somewhat forcefully. "What does  _hm_  mean?"

"It means I'm fairly certain that haircuts don't change a person's sexual orientation."

"What does  _that_  mean?" demanded Jane and Angela almost simultaneously.

"What do you think it means?" asked Maura with a teasing smile, clearly enjoying the idea that for once, both Rizzoli women were equally confounded, to the point that they were united. It was rare, and Angela had to give Maura a measure of approval for giving as good as she got with the Rizzolis. "It means that if Jane is gay, or straight, or bisexual, or anything else, that's a fact completely separate from the way she wears her hair."

Angela expressed suspicious surprise. "Anything else? There's more?"

Enthusiastically, Maura began to explain, "Oh, yes, many more ways of describing sexuality and gender."

Jane rolled her eyes at both women as she overrode Maura's burgeoning speech. "Ma, it's just a haircut. I'm the same Jane I was yesterday and the same one I'm going to be tomorrow."

"Except crankier," muttered Angela, taking a bite of her own gnocchi. Jane narrowed her eyes, but clearly hadn't heard what Angela said. "Fine. You don't have anything to tell me." Turning to Maura, Angela added, "She always says she wants to keep her life private, even from me. Her  _mother_."

"Cause you blab it all over." Jane was eating less forcefully, but also more slowly. "Can we just eat dinner and not have the Jane's a dyke comments? I'm going to get enough crap at work next week."

That suitably distracted Angela. "Next week? You're taking the whole week off?"

"Or longer," Maura confirmed. "The ringing sound and the pain might not completely interfere with your ability to do paperwork and other desk-related duties, but the balance issues could last up to three or four weeks. You won't be able to drive until your balance is restored, the nausea may interfere with your eyes' ability to focus on paperwork, and you shouldn't fire a weapon until  _all_  symptoms are gone. The noise will cause intense pain, and the sound waves could re-rupture the eardrum, possibly even worse than before."

As Jane slumped, Angela knew her daughter felt the dread of uselessness and boredom steal up her spine and over her shoulders like some gooey, liquid cloak. She'd seen this before on Janie, more than once, and Angela moved on to other matters that she deemed more important than her baby girl returning to the dangerous work of protecting Boston. "And you're staying here the whole time?"

Jane was effectively distracted, at least for a moment, from her dread. "Uh, I don't know. Maura?"

"It would be best," agreed the doctor in between delicious bites of gnocchi, "since you can't drive yourself anywhere else, and I'm certainly not going to come and stay in your place. You really shouldn't be alone more than you can help it."

"Uh... huh." Angela's brows were raised a bit as she tried, and failed, at nonchalance.

Jane huffed in a sudden return of annoyance. "Jesus, Ma, will you stop? It's not like that."

Maura looked up from her bowl of deliciousness again. "Like what?"

Jane explained, with a cloyingly sweet brand of sarcasm, "Ma thinks that because of the haircut I'm gay, and because I'll be staying with you, we must be a couple."

Maura considered this, nodding slightly, then retracted the nod. "A couple of what?"

"Really?" Again, both Rizzolis stood united as a long pause elapsed.

"Oh.  _Oh._  I see."

Two Rizzolis crossed their arms as they waited, one looking pleased with herself, one looking darkly murderous.

"What?"

"We're not dating, Maura! God!" Jane winced at her own volume and pressed a hand to her right ear, as if that would help.

Finally, Maura nodded. "That's true, we're not," she agreed, "but we do go out a lot. Sometimes to nice places. Sometimes you even dress up. That might be considered-"

"Not the same."

Pursing her lips, the bouncy-haired woman took her time to ponder before deciding, "I suppose you're right. There's sex at the end of dates. Well, not always, but on the  _better_  dates. There's at least a possibility. You always hope."

Angela's eyes bugged out.

So did Jane's. "Forget it, I'm not hungry, and I'm not having this conversation. I'm going to lie down." With only a third of her gnocchi eaten, Jane left the table and, after a brief wobble while standing, aimed herself at the guest room and, slowly, exited the room.

In the ensuing awkward silence, Maura sought solace in science. "It's very common for pain and infection to diminish one's appetite, Angela. I'm sure it's not a reflection on your gnocchi, which are very flavorful and have a lovely texture." Angela said nothing and kept eating, her gnocchi. "I should go make sure she takes her medicine," sighed Maura.

Angela watched Maura walk down the hallway and shook her head. "I don't think it's the haircut at all," she told herself, and finished her dinner.

* * *

Instead of actually lying on the bed, Jane sat on the end and tried to figure out how to sleep.  _If I lie on my left side, the crap in my ear will drain into my brain.. or whatever. So I should sleep on my right and let it ooze out into the bandage. Which means I'm going to have my back to the door._ Jane looked at the situation and wished Maura's guest room was laid out like the one at the old house, where sleeping on her right side would have her facing the door. Finally Jane settled for pulling a pillow to the foot of the bed and lying down 'backwards.'

This was how Maura found her. "Interesting choice. Do I need to flip the mattress?"

Jane started to shake her head. "No, it's fine." She didn't really want to delve into her insecurities at the end of two very long, very bad, days. The physical trauma and mental exhaustion made her feel stretched too thin, and like any more sarcastic comments would send her over the edge into tears. Not a happy feeling.

Silently, Maura sat beside Jane and brushed the hair away from her face and ear. "It's not fine, is it? It's just about time for you to take another pain pill. I'll bring you some water." However, she didn't move, other than to keep on with the soothing stroking of soft, short hair. "What else is wrong?"

Pressing her eyes closed, Jane tried to think of how to explain it to Maura, without hurting her feelings. Nothing was Maura's fault, so finally she settled with, "I'm worn out." Without any effort at all, her voice edged on whiney exhaustion and the words tumbled out. "Everything hurts, my ear feels like there's a radio turned to static in it, and I... I'm just not up for dealing with people teasing me." Jane was quite sure her mother really was just teasing. None of it was funny to Jane today. "I just want to not think about any of it for a while. Is that okay?"

Everything sucked. And she couldn't even enjoy the haircut, which was damn hot, without worrying about the guff she was going to get going back to work next week. Or whenever.

Maura gazed into Jane, or at least that was what it felt like, for an elongated moment. "Okay," she finally said softly and stood up to go fetch a glass of water and a pain pill. "I'll be right back."

Jane didn't open her eyes, but half listened to Maura leave the room. Once alone, Jane shuddered, involuntarily.  _I hate this. I hate being vulnerable I hate not being able to take care of myself, and I hate pain._  After all this time, Jane felt she should have been better at the pain. She'd been stabbed, shot, cut, punched, bruised, and blown up over the last seven years. The fear of being hurt again, after Marino, stung, but with Maura's help, she'd gotten over it. She wasn't afraid of being hurt now, but she was still wary.

No one actually  _wanted_  to get hurt. Being hurt sucked. Being useless was worse. If Maura had taken her home, Jane would have locked the door and sulked for a couple weeks on her own. It was probably better for her mental health that she wasn't doing that now.

* * *

"Did she take her meds?" Angela asked as Maura reappeared in the kitchen.

Maura shook her head. "I forgot to bring her some water, but she'll take them in a moment. She's just really feeling weary right now. Delicate."

Angela snorted in humor that was not entirely without sympathy. "Don't let her hear you say that."

"I would never," Maura vowed as she put the water glass under the ice dispenser, heard a few clinks, then switched to water. "Still, I think the teasing is harder to handle when it's at home than when it's work. She's used to it there. Mostly. It's about to get worse, though, and I think she'd really like it if that waited until she was back at the precinct."

Angela looked surprised. "You mean about the hair?" She frowned and got up to find the Tupperware. "I don't care if... Maura, you and Janie... Maura, I love you like a daughter, you know that." Before Maura could do more than confirm she did know, Angela plowed forward. "You're good for Janie. You care about her, you love her. And I love that. She needs someone to be there for her, to talk to about things she can't tell me." Angela sighed. "I want her to be happy and safe. And you make her feel safe."

Truly, Maura had no idea where Angela was going with this rambling explanation, and restrained herself to an encouraging nod. "I- Thank you."

"I trust you with her."

Maura could actually hear Jane's voice, in her head, saying 'Oooookay.'  _So that's why she says it. There really isn't a better response._  If she actually had been dating Jane, she would have found that touching. It would have made her misty-eyed and perhaps a bit sniffly. Since she wasn't, it was still touching, but in a distant way: it was kind, it was even an honor, but it was irrelevant. Not that she would deny the connection Angela was assuming, of course. After such a deeply kind statement, how could she throw it back with a simple "thanks, but no thanks?" Nor could she confirm the suspicion, since it was untrue.

Being Maura, she did not reply as such, and simply tilted her head a little to the side, acknowledging that she had heard Angela, but not committing to anything else.

"Go take care of her. I'll clean up the kitchen and go watch Oprah."

* * *

"Here's your water and your pill," Maura said as she walked back into the guest room, shortly followed by, "Oh, dear." The mild expression of dismay was for the sake of Jane, who was in exactly the same position as when Maura had left her, with just a bit more slump to the shoulders, a bit less visible eye. A bit more slackness in the face. How Jane managed to slump while lying on her side was both impressive and a mystery. Her voice softened. "Why don't you sleep in my room tonight?"

Slowly Jane opened one eye, trying to discern if Maura was giving her crap now. The sincere innocence in her best friend's face seemed to be comforting. "I was going to ask if you'd stay in here," admitted Jane, hunched into herself a little bit.

"My room's better," Maura said as she handed Jane the water glass and pill. "Closer to the shower you'll be using, and you can face the door." Knowing all to well Jane's fears from past experiences, she knew Jane hated sleeping with her back to the door.

That last one got Jane's attention the most and she slowly pushed herself back up to sitting so she could take the glass and pill. "You're a really good friend," Jane informed Maura, before dry-popping the pill and then drinking the water.

Maura's smile was a generous reward all on its own. "So are you. You'd do the same things for me if this happened, and if you had a medical degree." Again her hand brought itself back into Jane's hair to play with the little waves and spiky bits. "André did such a good job on this. You really do look striking. Not that you didn't already, but I mean, in a new way."

Unlike her reaction to her mother, Jane smiled at Maura, "It's okay, I know what you mean." With a monumental sigh, Jane asked, "Can you help me up? My gyroscope is off kilter." She held a hand up to Maura, almost reluctantly.

Quickly Maura was on her feet, offering the hand up and then a steadying shoulder, laying Jane's arm across her back and walking her right out the door, past the guest bathroom, and into her own room.

Fortunately, the hallway had a curve in it, so their progress was not visible from the outer, public parts of the house. Angela would have had a field day.

"You like the right side, don't you? Or is that just... how it's played out?" Maura asked as they paused, waiting to figure out which direction to guide Jane.

"No, I like the left."

Maura's face flickered with mild surprise. "You do? So the times we've shared sleeping accommodations, you've slept on the wrong side?"

Confused, Jane nearly shook her head. "No, you're always on my right, which means I'm on the left." Then she realized the issue. "Sorry. You're thinking the right side when you look at the bed?" Maura nodded. "Yeah, I'm thinking about the left side as I'm lying on it, looking up. I like to drive." Jane appeared sheepish as she phrased it that way, but the issue was immediately clarified, amusing Maura in the process.

Soon, she was seated, and Maura left her there, returning momentarily with fresh ear bandages. As she removed the one and replaced it with the other, Maura noted, "It's still a bit swollen, but the redness is less intense than before."

"Kind of glad I can't see it." Jane sat as straight and still as she could manage. "It's only seven and I'm just dead. This sucks. I'm going to miss the game."

"Do you want me to record it?" asked Maura, not offering to show Jane the fluid that had oozed onto the bandages.

Jane touched her bandage and, assured it was secure, settled onto her side of the bed. "Nah, something always comes up before you get to watch it and spoil it for you. Or it's a huge blowout and on the front page of the paper." Jane bounced ever so slightly, "Wow, Maura, this bed is amazing. I thought the guest bed was comfortable."

"It is." Maura responded rhetorically from the master bath, tossing the used bandage into the garbage and washing her hands. "It was recommended by my father. But this one's even nicer, I feel. The secret is that it's actually a futon, not a standard Western mattress."

"So that's why it's got those... divots?" Jane asked, running her hand over it.

"What?" Maura called before shutting off the water, and Jane repeated herself. "Oh. Yes, exactly. Below the sleeping surface, I've got storage drawers." She walked back in, rubbing hand lotion into her hands and wrists.

"Cool." Jane considered. "So you keep your, what, spare blankets in there?"

"Yes."

The briefest hesitation had come before Maura's reply. Just enough that she was certain Jane's detective brain filed it away for later. "Wish we hadn't been fighting last time I got a new mattress, this is way better than Sears." And that was as far as anyone wanted to get into the drama of exactly why Jane ended up buying an entirely new bed set not that long ago. Ugh. In a smaller voice she asked, "Are you going back out?"

"That depends," Maura said with the faintest glimmer of a smile, which she allowed to fade rather quickly into blandness.

"On what?"

"On whether you mind what your mother may assume, if I stay in here with you from seven-thirty onward."

One thing Jane had to say for her best friend: she could break down a situation pretty concisely.

"She probably thinks I'm in the guest room," Jane temporized. "Um. I don't mean you have to go to sleep, I just... I don't want to be alone. It's too quiet in my head."

Gentled eyes rested upon Jane's face for a moment, and Jane put her best puppy-dog expression in place. "I'll just go get my book. Be right back." On her way past the bed, she patted Jane's foot.


	4. Long Hair Will Send You To Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I make ample use of italics and bold. If you're on mobile, you will not enjoy this as much as you would on a device that supports formatting and the like.

Relief flooded her system and she slumped into the really soft bed. Really soft. This wasn't the guest room.  _How did I end up in Maura's bedroom?_  The last time Jane had been in Maura's room was to shower last night, but before that she'd only gone in to install the hand-held shower massager. Then she remembered Maura suggesting Jane sleep in here. Sighing, Jane pushed a hand through her hair and nearly had a second heart attack.  _Oh, right, I cut it off._ Jane frowned and turned to look at the bedstand again. A bottle of water sat by the light, with a fancy notecard. Leave it to Maura to use expensive paper for a note.

Since her mouth felt like the Gobi desert, Jane squirmed until she was propped up by the pillows and drank half the water in one go. Then she read the note.

_Today is Friday. I went to the office to work on the Houlihan case. Your cell phone is in the top drawer, along with your painkillers. I gave you a dose at six this morning, along with your antibiotics. There's food in the fridge with reheating directions. The clock is on my nightstand, to your right. Do not attempt to shower without me. - Maura_

Jane stared at the note, torn between smiling at Maura's tone, and being horrified at the fact that it was Friday. "It's not Friday," she muttered. "I got blown up on Monday, the hair cut was Tuesday and so was my ear. Maura brought me to her place, Ma made gnocchi, and I went to bed early..." There she stalled. Jane counted on her fingers and frowned more. Where did Wednesday and Thursday go!?

It took her longer than she wanted to admit to sit up, but once she did, Jane was pleased to find she wasn't dizzy anymore. In the top drawer was the promised cell phone, which boldly told her it was noon. And it was Friday. "What the crap?" Jane thumbed her phone on and dialed Maura's cell. As soon as the doctor answered, she blurted, "What the crap!?"

"Oh good, you're awake."

"How the hell is it Friday? What happened to Wednesday and Thursday?"

"You shouldn't yell."

"Maura!"

The soft sigh across the phone was both amused and exasperated. "You were asleep."

"For two- three- whatever! For days?" Jane looked around the bedroom with fear. Could a person even sleep that long without peeing?  _Oh god, did I wet Maura's bed? Then I'll never-_

"Except for showers and bathroom trips. And water. I made sure you were hydrated."

Jane was torn between relief and horror. "I showered?"

"Mmm."

The sound was not a committed affirmation, and Jane hardened her voice into a wordless, quiet growl to force something more precisely definitive out of her best friend. Maura responded with difficulty, but also with obedience to the implied, nebulous threat. "You sat on the stool while I wiped you down you."

Now Jane's face went beet red.  _Oh my god. Maura saw me naked? And washed me? Well there went that idea._  Jane pressed a hand to her face and tried not to laugh or cry at it. What was done was done. "Um. Thank you," she managed to say, sounding only a little strangled.

Concern in her voice, Maura asked, "Are you alright? Are you in pain? The painkillers are in the bathroom."

"No, no, I'm fine," sighed Jane. "Just trying to figure out how I could sleep for two and a half days."

"It was the antibiotics. And exhaustion. You don't take care of yourself, Jane."

"That's what I have you for," Jane remarked, unthinking. The silence on the phone was awkward. "Anyway. Um. I drank the water. I'm going to ... eat." With a remarkable amount of surprise, Jane realized how hungry she was.

"Do you need me to come help you?"

There was something about the perfunctory way Maura asked the question that caused Jane to wonder what she was like when she was 'asleep.' Best not to think about that now. "No, I think I'm okay." Jane swung her legs out of the bed and slowly stood up. Her muscles felt slack, like she really had been asleep for two solid days. "Yep. I'm standing. I gotta pee, so I'm hanging up."

Maura shuffled some papers on the phone and asked, "Please keep your phone with you, so you can call if you fall down?" Before Jane could agree, Maura added, "I'll be home by five."

"Right. Phone with me," Jane nodded a little and was delighted to find that it didn't hurt. "Thank you, Maura."

"Oh, it's nothing," replied the doctor, cheerfully. "Call me if you need me. Okay?"

"Okay! I gotta pee! Bye!" Jane thumbed her phone off and groaned. "Sick as a mongrel dog was  _not_  how I thought Maura'd see me naked," she complained to the empty room. "Wait... Dog..." Carefully, Jane whistled. No Joe. "Maura's got to have taken care of Joe," decided Jane, and she went to take her first unassisted whizz of the last couple days.

It took almost half an hour to sort out clothes (do you change before you shower?) and teeth, and then finally Jane made it to the kitchen to find some food.

* * *

Maura was not surprised to find a rather pleased looking Jane sitting on the couch with a glass of water, a book, and something about pawn shops on the television. "What are you watching?" she asked, hanging up her purse.

"Pawn Stars. These guys talk about history and pawn weird stuff. I always wanted to watch it, and they've got a marathon." Jane's short hair was smushed up on one side, adorably begging for Maura to reach over and smooth it down. "I did what you said. Had lunch, drank lots of water, didn't shower." This last was said with a slight whine. "Do I smell?"

Far be it from Maura to not take advantage of the situation and she obediently leaned in to smell Jane and her hair. Closing her eyes, the smell of her bath soap on Jane's skin circumvented her brain and went right to the pit of her stomach.  _You smell amazing_ , thought Maura once again, knowing full well she wouldn't be able to say that. Instead she took a second, deep, breath and replied, "You smell fine, Jane. If you want to shower tonight, before dinner would be a good idea."

Jane sighed and slumped in the seat a little, going back to the book. "I'm going to be paranoid about this for months."

"I wouldn't have let you sleep in my bed if you smelled, Jane," admonished Maura. Her eyes drifted to the book in Jane's hands and she froze. "What are you reading?" she asked, in an attempt to keep her tone light.

Jane shifted the book so Maura could read the title:  _Sleeping Bones_. "Katherine V Forrest. Found it on your bookcase in the bedroom when I dropped my phone."

That was, Maura realized, possibly the only reason Jane might have for looking at the bottom shelf. Except for snooping, and Jane surprisingly never snooped at Maura's. Angel snooped, but Jane shouted at Angela about that, and said it was bad enough Angela spied on her kids, but if she set one foot in Maura's bedroom, there would be hell to pay. Perhaps that was why Angela was certain Jane and Maura were dating. One of many small reasons, Maura supposed.

The silence was probably dragging on too long. "Are you … enjoying it?"

"Yeah, I haven't read this one yet." Jane reached over and held up  _Hancock Park_ , which was the most recent (if 2004 could be considered recent, it was almost a decade ago that Forrest had released a new book). "So I thought I'd read the last one and then that one. I remember the others pretty well."

Why was Jane so enamored with making Maura's brain functions cease. "I have other books," offered Maura, taking her purse and what remained of her sanity into the kitchen. Jane was reading a lesbian mystery book on her couch.

"I know. They were all too smart. This is simple. I can read it with a small brain."

_And one hand_ , thought Maura, keeping that well to herself. "I'm glad you're feeling better." It was far better to change the subject. "Do you have any thoughts about dinner? Your mother left some gnocchi-"

"Nope."

Maura blinked and eyed the refrigerator. Angela had made a small amount of fresh gnocchi every day, enough for two people. Not wanting to be unwilling to eat the same food as Jane (it was always comforting when two people ate the same food at meals), Maura had been bringing the day-olds to work, where they were devoured by everyone.

"Are you hungry at all?" wondered Maura, taking her shoes off.

"Yep."

Narrowing her eyes at Jane, Maura wondered why she had to be so frustrating. "Jane…" she sighed, trying not to let her exasperation show too much.

"You have a real nice fish in there. I wanted to grill it, but I think you'd yell at me, so maybe salad and quinoa and we can bake it?"

Yes indeed, today was going to be one of those days where Jane just defied the conventions. "Are you feeling alright?" It wasn't that long ago they'd had the pregnancy scare, and Jane asking to eat that sort of food was rather akin to strange cravings.

Now Jane sighed. "Yes. Look, I love gnocchi, but it's so  _heavy_. I just want something light. If you don't want to cook, I totally understand! You've been babysitting me for a week."

"Only a few days," demurred Maura. "But that sounds… wonderful." Actually, it sounded exactly like the dinner she had planned for a date night, but given that she did everything else date-like with Jane already, this seemed somehow fitting. "Let me put the fish in, and then shower. It was an interesting day."

"Will it make me antsy if you tell me about it?"

"Possibly." Probably.

"Better not tell me then."

Maura studied the strange self-awareness in Jane today. Head injuries had been known to cause behavioral changes before, but this seemed different. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Hungry mostly." Jane watched Maura for a moment, "Were you saving the fish for your date on Saturday?"

Date? Maura stared at Jane, perplexed. Had she forgotten something? The week had been stranger than most. "Oh. I should cancel that..." She was sure her date would understand, though the more Maura thought about it, the less certain she became. She was going to cancel a date because her best friend was sick and staying over. That really did sound like an excuse, for all it was the truth. Of course, she didn't exactly want Jane and her date to  _meet_  just yet. That was another conversation that would be awkward and strange, especially after Jane had spent three days in Maura's bed.

"You don't have to." Jane put the book down. "I mean, if I'm not  _sick_  I can go home. Ma'll come with me, I'm sure, which will get her and Cavanaugh out of your backyard."

It was a tempting offer, and Maura smiled. "You're thoughtful, Jane, but I'll just reschedule."

Jane looked dubious. "Why not make it an afternoon thing? You guys go out, Frankie and I can watch the game here. Yanks are in town." The offer was plain and simple, but Maura sensed there was some underlying meaning behind Jane's words.

"That's a lovely idea," she replied. Normally Jane was positively snide about anyone Maura dated. Actually she tended to be protective and jealous of Maura's dating life. Vocally so, when Maura thought about it. Jane just didn't like  _anyone_  Maura was dating. Ever.

"Weclome!" Jane picked the book back up and stayed out of the kitchen until Maura set the table. Once Jane got up, Maura saw why she was so willing to stay still. She moved slowly and stiffly, as if her muscles were objecting every motion. It was all the time asleep, Maura knew, but it would be hard to convince Jane of this being normal, so Maura said nothing.

Halfway through the fish, Jane spoke up. "You're allowed to ask how I feel."

"I've asked many times, Jane," she smiled. "You're fine, right?" Jane stuck her tongue out at Maura and took a bite of the salad. "I've learned, you're always fine, even when you're not."

"Yeah, but you always ask anyway."

Maura shrugged. She'd spent three days working about Jane. As a doctor, she knew that level of sleep was normal enough for the traumatic injury. And as Jane's friend, she knew the uneasy sleep was normal enough as well. "Did you sleep alright?" she asked, carefully.

"Other than a couple weird dreams, yeah. That pink stuff doesn't give me nightmares. Wish they could make a painkiller out of it."

Both Jane and her mother called amoxicillin 'pink stuff' and it was cute. "Your mother told me about the time you had meningitis."

"Did she remember the part about how Tommy thought he was dying because of his pee? That was the best part." Jane sighed, enjoying a pleasant memory. "Were you ever super sick as a kid?"

"No, I only had the normal childhood ailments. Chicken pox, the flu. Food poisoning is about as bad as it ever got and..."

"You were the worst patient," laughed Jane. A couple months ago, Maura had managed to get food poisoning from oysters at her favorite restaurant. The chef had been profoundly apologetic, which did not help Maura in the slightest. She spent four hours vomiting before calling Jane for help.

Maura was slightly indignant. "You said I was very easy to take care of."

"You were," agreed Jane. "Once you were asleep."

"I could say the same of you."

Instead of being huffy, Jane just smiled. "It's the only time I do what I'm told, huh?"

"For an authority figure, you have a remarkable tendency to reject authority." Maura stood up, "Desert? I think I have some fruit."

"I'd really like you to tell me I can shower," Jane sighed, dramatically. "Alone."

"Sponge baths aren't all that restorative," agreed Maura. "And your hair could probably use a wash."

"Ah hah!" Jane looked elated. "I knew it! You didn't shower me!" They shared a look and to Maura's surprise, Jane blushed and looked away first. "Just... Check my ear. Please?"

They went into the bedroom and Jane sat on the edge of the bed while Maura peeled off the bandages. The ear looked surprisingly alright. "The infection healed quickly. But I want you to wear an earplug."

While clearly pleased, Jane smirked at her, "Bossy."

* * *

Saturday brought her brother over, courtesy of Tommy, who did not stay. Frankie was moving slowly and sporting an amazing shiner. "I thought you hit the  _back_  of your head," Jane blurted as she put sodas on the coffee table.

"You know how ma's always telling us to tie ours shoes better?" When Jane nodded, Frankie grumbled, "My shoe hit my face."

It was horrible, but Jane got caught in the giggles. "That's where it went!" She snickered and covered her mouth, the mental image of her kid brother's shoe flying through the air and landing on his face was too perfect. Maybe there was a video. Of course, any video would also have Jane being blasted as well, so perhaps not.

"Shove it. You got lucky. Nothing broken, and you get to hang out here." Frankie scowled and sat down on the couch.

"Except my ear." She brought the bowl of chips to the coffee table.

Frankie froze mid reach for the remote. "What?"

Oh. No one told him. "Shockwave tore my eardrum. That's why I'm still here and not at home. Grumpy Dr. Isles won't let me go." She dropped onto the couch beside him. The bandages were officially off, unless her ear started leaking again, so she let Frankie squint at her ear.

"Nope, can't see your brain," he teased. "Musta blasted out the other end."

"Least I tie my shoes," she smirked.

Frankie laughed and patted Jane's knee. "I'm glad you're okay. I'm pissed the haircut looks better on you." He clicked on the baseball game. Sox v Yankees.

Reflexively, she touched her head. "Thank you."

"Did you hit  _your_  head? Or did you actually thank me for a compliment." Frankie was suspicious.

Jane punched his shoulder. "Ma's been being ... Ma about it." Her brother made an 'oh' sound and nodded. "I didn't really have a choice. All that deer piss..."

"Why the hell did they have that anyway?"

"Smuggling it was more lucrative than the meth," sighed Jane. When Maura broke down and told her about her 'interesting' day, Jane had called up the drug unit for details on  _her_  case.

Frankie made a 'huh' sound, and they watched the first inning in relative quiet. "Where's Maura?"

"Date night." She felt Frankie staring at her, "Date  _afternoon_ , fine." But he kept staring. "What?!"

"You hate her dates."

"Yeah, so?"

"So ... Why not ask her to stay here?"

Jane snorted. "She deserves some fun, Frankie. Besides, it's the third date with this one." Scowling, Jane turned her attention to the game. She wasn't about to tell Frankie why she was annoyed about the date, though the fact that she hadn't liked any of the men Maura had introduced her to was well known to the Rizzoli clan.

She wasn't about to out Maura on this on being a woman was all. And maybe if she kept telling herself that, it'd be true.

It sucked, knowing your best friend was dating woman, and didn't have the courage to tell you. Jane didn't actually have an issue with Maura dating women. She was  _Maura_  for crying out loud. As far as Jane cared, she could date anyone and Jane would still be annoyed, not by their gender, but by the fact that they were dating Maura.

Jealousy was an ugly feeling.

"I gotta theory," said Frankie, watching the Yankees foil the inning with a double play.

"That our farm team sucks, and maybe we should invest in long term pitcher training without giving every prospect freaking Tommy John surgery?" The number of players who'd had the surgery this year was at an all time high, and Jane had actually made Maura explain why this was a bad thing to Korsak. She reached for a chip.

"You don't like Maura dating because you're jealous."

It took most of Jane's willpower not to freeze with the chip halfway to her face. Slowly she put the chip in her mouth, chewed, swallowed, and  _then_  replied. "Well look at my stellar run of boyfriends."

Frankie snorted. "Nah, you're not jealous of her dating, your jealous of them dating her."

"I'm jealous of them dating her," repeated Jane, vying for time to come up with a better answer. Frankie nodded. "Uh huh." She had no better answer, and Jane ate another chip.

Now Frankie was quiet, as if Jane's noncommittal comment was answer enough. They made it to the seventh inning stretch before he spoke again about Maura. "I know about Emily."

This time she dropped the chip, salsa and all, onto the couch. "What the hell?"

Both siblings scrambled to clean Maura's couch. "You and Emily. I saw youse two in the treehouse when you were 13."

Jane's face burned. "You  _what_!?" She stared at her younger brother in horror. "How the... Why the..." She could hardly process the fact that her kid brother had spied on her. She was more panicked at what he saw. Thirteen. The next year, Emily would tell her it had just been 'practice' for dating boys.

At least he looked embarrassed. "I saw you guys making out. And ... Um." He turned red and Jane turned redder. "So I'm just saying, you know. Maura." Frankie waved on hand and tried to smile.

Giving Frankie a dirty look, Jane scooted away from him on the couch. "No. We are not talking about this." They didn't talk at all the rest of the game, and indeed, were still scowling at each other when Maura came home.

* * *

Jane had been more than polite, asking Maura broad questions about her date. In that disturbingly insightful way of hers, Jane avoided the uncomfortable topic of who exactly Maura was out with, and instead asked if she had fun, and what the play was. For her own part, Maura decided not to ask why Frankie and Jane were angry at each other. Or rather, why Jane was mad at her brother.

"What's the part of your brain that thinks stuff without permission?" Jane had been silent, reading a magazine, for about an hour.

Maura looked up from her laptop, "I presume you don't mean the subconscious."

"I was kind of hoping for a word vomit answer," sighed Jane, putting down her magazine. "Don't take this the wrong way, please, but I'd like to go home."

Whenever anyone asked Maura not to 'take things the wrong way' it had been preemptory to breaking up. Not that she and Jane were dating. "Oh." She closed her laptop and studied her friend's face. "You no longer have an infection or fever," Maura mused, thoughtfully. "No balance issues. You're rested... Do you want to go home  _now_?"

There was a brief hesitation before Jane picked up the magazine again, "No, tomorrow. Ma can drive me and yell at me." Jane paused, "Where  _is_  my car?"

"Giovanni's. It needed servicing and detailing." Acknowledging that with a grunt, Jane shrunk back into the couch. Something else was going on to conspire towards Jane's attitude. The report could wait, and Maura walked around the couch to sit beside Jane. The short hair was sticking up in strange ways, flat on one part and puffy on the other. "André did a fantastic job on your hair," she smiled, and reached to fuss with it.

That elicited a reaction as Jane swatted at her hand, "It's just a haircut, Maura." While Jane had said those words before, to her mother, this time she sounded actually angry. Jane scowled and got up. "I just... Want my routine back."

Given how little time Jane normally spent at her own apartment, Maura was suspicious of the claim. "It has been emotionally stressful," she noted. Jane frowned more and went into the kitchen. Inwardly, Maura smiled. She had been correct. "I would imagine being further from your mother might be more restful."

Jane glanced back, her face growing grateful. "Yeah, yeah it would be." Relief washed over her body and Jane smiled again. "Sorry, I'm just Rizzoli'd out. Don't know how you can stand it."

"She isn't my mother." Maura had pointed this out many times before. Her own relationship with her mothers was problematic and awkward, which was just bound to happen when your father was a hitman for the mob. Angela, being just Jane's mother, was far easier to deal with, especially since her issues were generally mundane compared to money laundering, organ donation, and criminal activities.

It gave Maura room to doubt herself. Her mother, her father, and her half-brother were all criminals of a sort. And she had committed crimes for Jane. That didn't help her feel any better about it. "Sorry," sighed Jane. "I think... I'm going to sleep."

"I'll shower now, then, so I don't wake you up."

"No, I'm going to sleep in the guest room," said Jane, looking frustrated and sad.

"Okay, no." Maura stood up, hands on her hips. "What's wrong?"

Jane kicked the wall. "I don't feel like me without my hair anymore."

Maura's eyes widened. "You've had other haircuts before, Jane."

"Yeah, but not this ... Short. I look like a totally different person, and it's weird. I feel  _weird_." She turned around and walked back to the couch. "How was your date?"

"Fine," demurred Maura. "You already asked me that."

"Lucy, right?"

It was best that Maura wasn't holding anything. "Lucy?" She couldn't lie, there was no point in trying, but she didn't  _have_  to answer, right?

"Oh, Maura," sighed Jane. "I'm a detective, alright? I know about Lucy. And Allison." Jane waved one hand. "I'm not an idiot."

"No, no you're not," agreed Maura, and she walked around to see Jane's face. "Is that why you want to go home?" She had never felt so naked and terrified in her life. Maybe the haircut was a terrible idea after all.

"Yes, but not how you're thinking." Jane looked thoughtfully up at Maura. "I screw up a  _lot_  of your dates."

Maura's mouth opened slightly. Here was Jane, sitting on her couch, telling Maura she knew about her predilections, and feeling bad for impinging on them. It was, in a word, weird. "Not all of them," demurred Maura. "I do a fairly decent job of that myself."

Jane laughed. "We both do! I mean, god, Casey?"

Quirking her lips, Maura felt no remorse in the slightest as to the destruction of that particular relationship. She and Angela shared a great antipathy towards Charles. "Slucky," agreed Maura. Quickly they devolved into making horrible comments about some of their more memorable dates (though Jane sidestepped mentioning Dennis), until they were both smiling.

With a stretch, Jane slouched into the couch even more and grinned. The smile was so easy and friendly, Maura remembered why things had been so horrible after Jane shot Paddy Doyle. This is what friendship was. "I just don't want to keep screwing up your life as good as I do mine, okay?"

Smiling softly, Maura nodded. "You're not upset?" This was not how she'd ever expected this conversation to go with Jane, but one of her friend's many wonderful aspects was her constant ability to surprise and adapt. Jane purported to hate change, but she seemed willing and ready to change for Maura at any time. Even the hair.

"At what? Not telling me you're bi, homo, pan, whatever? Nah, I get it." Jane lifted a shoulder and then pointed at the couch. "I don't care what you identify as, so long as we're still friends. Now sit. My neck hurts."

Maura scoffed, "I'm sure all of you still hurts." She did, however, sit beside Jane.

"Hey, I used your hot tub today. It was heaven!" Jane smirked at her. "Now give. How was the date?"

Maura hesitated for the briefest of moments. "She is so  _needy_  Jane!" The words burst out and Maura felt intense relief. Finally she could tell someone about it. Finally she could just chat with Jane about her date. "And she got so mad when I told her you were here."

"You didn't tell her I was sleeping in your room, did you?" When Maura didn't answer right away, Jane snickered. "You did! Well of course she got mad!"

"But you're my friend," protested Maura. Which had been her argument with Lucy in the first place. Her best friend was injured and sick. Of course she was staying with Maura until she felt better. But Lucy had not seen this as 'normal' behavior, and announced Maura was too weird for her.

"Yeah, and this woman who wants to get into your bed has to be pissed, thinking about  _this_  sexy cop already in there." Jane was clearly entertained and amused by Maura's predicament.

Pursing her lips, Maura noted, "A sexy  _drooling_  cop."

Jane made a blustery noise, "I don't drool!"


	5. Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long delay. I had part of this done and the middle was just sticking. It's not my favorite chapter I've ever written, and my head is far too serious to do this fluff well.

For the life of her, Jane could not have told anyone why she decided to tell Maura she knew, while chickening out on telling Maura that, hey, she sometimes was into women as well. Well, no. She knew why she chickened out. First of all, Emily didn't really count as dating. Secondly, it would have made things really weird, when she knew Maura just needed a friend.

Jane suspected that was going to be the end of Lucy, though. Beyond the reaction to Jane's relationship with Maura, such as it was, Lucy suffered from ketosis. Maura noted she wasn't trying to be superficial, but the scent was a turn off. That had launched her into a dissertation about pheromones and sexual activity, which Jane had tuned out of.

And the annoying part was Frankie was right. Jane _was_ jealous of Lucy, and pretty much everyone else who got to date Maura, and it was stupid.

The best way to deal with it was to not, and Jane called Cavanaugh, begging to come back to work early. When she broke down and asked him to let her do paperwork, he realized she was serious and let her back. Jane figured after her mother’s outburst, she’d be ready to deal with work. She was wrong.

It started with Stanley: “Rizzoli, has your mother seen your hair!?”

“No, I was planning to surprise her. When does she get in?” asked Jane, as dryly as she could.

The elevator had Rafael, who opened his mouth once, “Woah.”

Jane held up her index finger. “I’m armed.”

No one had bothered to take her gun away, though Jane had no intention of using it until her ear was cleared. The doctor had warned her about loud noises causing it to re-rupture, and frankly, once was enough. Of course, Rafael didn’t have to know that.

Rafael shrugged. “Good to have you back, Rizzoli,” he said simply. “So, ah, you busy tomorrow night?”

What the hell? Jane turned to give him the stink eye. “If you’re asking then yes, I’m very busy every night.”

“Come on,” groaned Rafael. The elevator opened and Jane stepped out, ignoring him. “Give me a chance.” He held the elevator with one hand.

“Sorry, I’m busy washing my hair.” She slapped his hand with a folder, and smirked as the door closed.

He still got the last word, saying “Funny!” as the door closed.

Turning around, Jane was not surprised to see the detectives staring at her. “Yes, I cut my hair, congratulations, you can all keep your gold badges.”

The general laughter was comforting, and Jane dropped into her chair. It was better to be back here, where the heckling was obvious. The stack of folders on her desk was daunting, and she sighed. Okay, this was less better, but it was still better than moping around at home, so Jane applied herself to the work.

After the third person asked or commented about her hair, she started keeping a tally. Korsak was the fifteenth, showing up with lunch and her mother. "Wow, Angela, you weren't kidding. Looks good on you, Jane."

"Thank you," she gritted.

"Stop being so angry, honey." Angela put a hamburger down in front of Jane. "Fries?"

Jane blinked, "God yes." She reached out for the burger and took a huge bite. "Soooo good."

"You look happier to have that than a date," teased Korsak, putting his leg on an empty chair.

"Burger's better," Jane growled. "How's your foot?"

"Not broken." When Jane looked surprised, he explained, "I know, I thought it was too, but the x-ray was goofed by the swelling. Just a sprain.”

“Tell Maura, she’ll have a field day with that one. Frankie’s got a black eye.” And Jane explained about the shoe hitting his face, which Korsak found as funny as she did.

“When you’re done talking about your brother, how about you eat the salad too.”

“I knew the burger was too good to be true,” smiled Jane, giving Korsak a wink. She did obediently take a bite of the salad, however. There was only so much you could push your mother. “How is Frankie, Ma?”

“He’s fine. He said he’s sorry.”

Oh. Jane looked at the salad, feeling her stomach turn. “I’ll call him later,” she muttered, shoving more food in her face to avoid having to answer any further.

“You kids are always fighting,” sighed Angela, ruffling Jane’s hair.

Jane swatted her mother’s hands. “Come on, stop it.”

But Angela was looking fondly at her, which was rare enough these days. “I like the hair. It’s growing on me.”

“It’s growing on Janie,” joked Korsak.

“You’re very funny, have you guys thought about trying a comedy routine?” Jane shook her head roughly, as if she could still flip her hair back into place, and then inhaled the rest of her salad before capping it off with the burger. While she ate, her mother kept glancing at the door to Cavanaugh’s office and Jane wished she had one of those telecommuting jobs, so she could avoid the mess with those two.

Adult problems were so much messier and complicated, but childhood woes hurt more. Kind of. Breaking up with Emily, such as that was, hurt a hell of a lot more than the crap with Casey. At least Maura had worn a smile of vindictive joy when she’d helped Jane insure the ring for shipping to Casey’s family in Australia. In a moment of cowardice, Jane put Casey’s name and base address on the return information, leaving herself out of the situation. And god knew breaking up with Dean was easy. Sex, betrayal, done. He made it easy. Maybe if he came back she could teach Jo Friday to pee on him.

But thanks to stupid Frankie, she’d been thinking about Emily all night, and how that had been a bajillion kinds of awkward and painful. It didn’t make sense then, and it really didn’t now either. Jane recalled her mother telling her something freakishly accurate after Jane had moped around the house for days afterwards.

“What’re you thinking so hard about,” asked Angela quietly.

“Young hearts are fragile.” Crap. Why did your mouth just say stuff without your brain asking for permission?

Angela startled, “Well, all hearts are fragile Janie. Is … everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah. Case.” Jane waved a hand at the stack that had been dumped on her. “Kids. I’m remembering why I’m not in juvie.” Angela looked pained and like she wanted to hug Jane again. With a warning look, Jane went on, “At least our deer urine smuggler case is over.”

Korsak laughed, “I had to burn my suit! Can you believe that?”

“The hospital burned Frankie’s for him. His hair still smelled—” Angela paused and looked at Jane, realization dawning. “That’s what happened!”

Jane rolled her eyes. “Yes, ma, that’s exactly what happened.”

“Wonder why I didn’t have that problem,” muttered Korsak.

It was a cue for Maura to waltz in and start explaining. “It has to do with the dermal absorption rates, and the—”

“Lipids in the source and blah blah science, yeah, we went over that in the shower, Maura. Hi.” With only her salad and fries left, Jane smiled and realized she looked like a healthier eater.

Maura, on the other hand, looked put out that Jane cut her off. “You’re feeling better,” she noted, sitting on the edge of Jane’s desk and stealing some fries.

“I _like_ being back at work.”

Korsak snorted, “You hate paperwork, Jane.”

“Better than staying at home reading and watching the home shopping network,” retorted Jane. “Besides, I’m up to fifteen people who can’t believe I cut my hair. If I hit twenty, I’m going out for beers.”

Of course Maura looked pleased. “I told you. It looks amazing.” Her hands twitched and Jane shot her best friend a quelling look. No hands in hair at work, please and thank you. Chagrined, Maura took another fry. “Fifteen?”

“Korsak included. Rafael asked me out.”

Angela looked offended, “You said no, right?”

Jane scowled at her mother, “That’s what you’re asking?” She shook her head. “We should go back to that french place, Maura!”

“Which one?”

“The truck one.”

Wrinkling her face in concentration, Maura asked, “Le Beau Truc?” As Jane nodded, Maura looked more confused, “Why would we— Oh.” They shared a look, both smiling slightly differently. Jane was grinning, amused, and Maura was trying very hard to look nonplussed. “That would certainly add to your numbers.”

Not that Jane was all that keen on Maura getting asked out by even more people, but Frankie did have a small point. Liking people was so complicated, and while Jane would never put a label on things, least of all Maura or herself, she had to admit to a good point. She _did_ like Maura. Now what?

Korsak scowled. “What are you two talkin’ about?” He didn’t sound annoyed, just mildly frustrated.

"Dinner," smiled Jane, pleased that Maura had followed along at least. "Whaddaya say, Maura? Friday after work?"

"I have a date." When Jane tilted her head, Maura nodded. Ah, so Lucy had another shot. "Okay, later. Whenever. Though we should probably meet..." After a moment, Maura agreed to that, but quickly made her exit with Angela and the dirty dishes. 

Once the women were gone, Kosak leaned over and hissed. "What's up with that? You never like anyone the Doc's dating."

"New 'do, new leaf, Korsak," sighed Jane, and she went back to the paperwork.

* * *

Willing to enjoy someone _else_ cooking for a change, Maura agreed to come over to Jane’s for dinner on Saturday to lament about their love lives. It had been too late to consider a meal out at a nice restaurant, and Jane had actually offered to cook, which left Maura free to complain. “And then she said she didn’t want me to be friends like that with you, it made her feel like a third wheel. So that’s that.”

Everything had gone terribly downhill when, per Jane’s suggestion, Maura asked Lucy if she’d like to meet Jane. In fact, Maura had never had anyone hightail it out of her presence quite like that before. She was quite a bit miffed, honestly.

“Good,” replied Jane, hanging the last of the fresh pasta to dry.

“Good?” Maura folded her arms across her chest.

“I didn’t like her. She was too needy.”

There it was again. Jane never liked anyone Maura had dated. “When,” sighed Maura, “in the history of ever, have you approved of someone I’ve dated?”

Jane pulled the tray of meatballs out of her fridge. “Uh, okay, that’s not fair,” she protested, and added the meatballs to the frying pan. “I haven’t met all of them.” The dig was pointed, and not very nice.

“You never met Lucy.”

“Did too,” objected Jane. “Week before The Hair Incident. Her car stalled on your driveway, I gave her a jump.”

Maura stared at her friend. If Jane had met, and interacted with, Lucy, then she’d known all this time that there was _something_ going on. Worse, she knew Lucy had spent the night! “Jane Rizzoli, did you sabotage my date?”

“What? No! God, no, why would I?” Under her breath, though, Jane muttered what sounded like “You do that pretty good on your own.”

And Maura was livid. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”

“Hello! Pot, kettle?” Jane snorted in derision, but a sudden smile broke across her face. “Pansexual?” Then she snorted a laugh. “Pot, kettle, pan!”

While Maura was still irate, the look of irrational humor on Jane’s face was infectious. “It’s not funny.”

“Yes, yes it totally is hilarious.” Jane pressed her lips together, but the giggles had won and she was outright laughing. Much of Maura wanted to keep yelling at Jane, but the fact was that is was humorous. As Jane stopped laughing quite so hard, Maura’s lips quirked. They shared a look and Maura’s defensive wall fell down and she chuckled. “See?” Pointing with her wooden spoon, Jane laughed so hard she snorted.

And that sent Maura over the edge from chuckles to actual laughs. “I needed that,” she admitted to Jane, a little begrudgingly.

“We both did,” agreed Jane, wiping her eyes. “I _am_ sorry about that, Maura,” she added, sounding sincere.

Maura sighed, “I do have to wonder, how needy can someone be with a stalled car?”

Jane rolled her eyes, “Do you really want to know?”

After a moment, Maura shook her head and poured two glasses of wine, “No I don’t think I do.” She hesitated, “Are you done with antibiotics?”

“Yep! Healthy and I can go back to the range.” Jane reached over to grab the wine glass and took a healthy swallow.

Of course Maura sipped a little (a lot) more decorously. “I hope you’ll wear earplugs as well as the …” She paused and gestured over one ear. “Ear protectors?”

“Oh hell yes. I do not want to deal with this again.” She put the glass down to stir and roll the meatballs. “The hair’s okay, though,” added Jane, glancing almost shyly at Maura.

What was up with that? Maura arched her eyebrows, but no further explanation was forthcoming. “It does look amazing,” she noted. It looked downright stunning.

“You were right.”

“Are you certain they cleared you for head injuries?”

Jane snapped her head up and saw Maura’s faux-innocent expression. “Funny. Funny, I remember when you didn’t do jokes.”

“I remember when you thought Dean was a good idea.”

“So did you!” They both laughed. 

Maura sighed and sipped her wine again. She’d brought the bottle over once Jane explained what she’d be cooking. “Why can’t we find nice people who like us and each other?”

“Because if they do, they’ll always want a threesome,” suggested Jane, frowning. “And no.”

Of course no. Of course Jane wouldn’t consider that other option. “Well, it is always an option.”

“Ah, come on, Maura! If I was sleeping with you, I would _not_ be willing to share.”

Maura stared. What? If she was Jane, she’d have asked ‘What the what?’ but, being Maura, she had to simply swallow her surprise. “That’s flattering,” she murmured softly.

And Jane was looking away from Maura. Keeping something to herself in a way Maura couldn't read. It was always hard, reading Jane, even on the best day. The haircut, sexy as it was, seemed to make that even more complicated and problematic. What she really wanted to know was just what Jane was thinking.

When Jane didn’t say anything for a while, Maura decided to ask around the problem. “How’s Frankie?”

Jane groaned. “I don’t want to talk about my brother. He’s being a jerk.” She tossed the pasta into the water with a little more vehemence than one might expect. The water splashed out and Jane jerked her hand back.

“Are you alright?” Maura stood up and walked around the island to take Jane’s hand.

“Yeah it’s fine, will you stir that?” Wriggling her hand out of Maura’s, Jane looked at the back of her hand.

Maura picked up the ladle and stirred. “Run it under cold water, Jane.”

“It’s fine,” repeated Jane, not angry or defensive. Maura expected a sort of grudging snap from her friend and glanced over. “It didn’t… It’s fine, okay?” She held her hand up, showing not even a red mark on it.

“You’re a big baby,” teased Maura, rolling her eyes. “Nothing’s wrong and you jump back like you were scalded.”

Jane sighed. “I really don’t care,” she started. “No, I do care.” She glanced at Maura and sighed. “This sucks. Why does it suck so much?”

“Considering I don’t know what we’re talking about, I really don’t have a comprehensive answer for that, Jane.” When Jane made a grunt of annoyance, Maura smiled. “Is this about why you’re fighting with Frankie?”

“Ugh, is it that obvious?” Jane picked up her wine and sipped it. “Yes.”

Maura smiled. Excellent. This was progress. “And why are you fighting with Frankie? He apologized when he went home the other day.”

“Jerk,” muttered Jane. “Not you, him.” She leaned over Maura’s shoulder. “Pasta’s done. Come on.”

Bumping Maura out of the way with her hip, Jane took over the pasta and quickly served up homemade spaghetti and meatballs. She seemed disinclined to talk about whatever sucked, which put the burden of their dinner conversation on Maura. When Maura delved into an explanation that this wasn’t really spaghetti, Jane just smiled and listened, her head down.

“I wish I could lie,” she sighed at length, and Jane looked up.

“Well that’s outta left field, Maura.”

“I mean, if I could lie, I’d make up a story about how spaghetti and meatballs were actually invented by an Irish American entrepreneur in the 1800s, who upon failing in his business as a butcher, decided to take the end cuts of meat, grind them up into balls, and serve them fried. But that didn’t sell well until the daughter of a neighboring Italian bought them for her pasta one day, and everyone wanted to try this new food. So the two went into business and married and lived happily ever after.”

“That’s a nice story,” laughed Jane. “But it was Italian Americans in the early 20th century.” Maura stuck her tongue out at Jane. “Lying doesn’t make anything easier, but you could just pretend you were telling a story.”

Maura sighed, “Oh, I suppose. It doesn’t work, though. I was trying to see if you were paying attention.”

That changed the smile on Jane’s face to a softer one. “I’m always listening and paying attention to you, Maura. Even when I don’t understand half the things you’re saying.”

“The feeling’s mutual, detective.” Maura raised her glass and they clinked. “So what sucks?”

Jane wrinkled her face. “That word sounds wrong when you say it.”

“Sucks?”

“Yeah, it’s too … weird. You should say something grander.”

“Hmm, no,” smiled Maura, pleased to have found something that engaged Jane in a more normal conversation. “Sucks. Bummer. Totally lame, which is actually offensive by the way.”

Now Jane rolled her eyes. “Frankie sucks because he told me he spied on me making out with— someone. A while ago. A long while ago.”

The brief hesitation was not lost on Maura. “If it was a long time ago, why does it bother you now?”

“Because he’s making me think about other stuff.” Jane poked at a meatball. “If I told you I didn’t want to date men anymore, what would you do?”

Maura pursed her lips. “Make sure my evenings were free, I suppose.”

“Really, Maura?” Jane groaned. “Come on, seriously.”

“I am serious!” Maura was indignant. “If you stop dating, then you’ll be over at my place every night, probably complaining about your lack of dates for the first few months. Then you’d complain about any date I had, so I’d just not go on those.”

Jane looked impressed, “Until when?”

“Until when would I date? Oh. When you were ready, I suppose.”

Making a noise, Jane looked down at her pasta. “Remember my friend Emily?” Maura paused, mouth full of pasta, and then remembered Giovanni and made a gesture with her hands. “Yeah, the one with the boobs,” smirked Jane. “When we were thirteen, we made out in her treehouse.”

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Maura knew she was not blessed with the best poker face, and while she tried very hard not to let the myriad expressions of her feelings cross her face, she knew it was in vain. “Oh,” she said softly, looking at Jane. Many conversations made sense now, in a different way. The awkwardness of Jane staying at Maura’s was explained. For two weeks, Jane had known with certainty that Maura dated women sometimes.

And Jane, watching Maura’s facial expressions, just sighed. “Yeah, good, we’re on the same page.”

“You were thirteen,” Maura suggested gently.

Jane scoffed, “Yeaaaah, I keep telling myself that.” She swirled some pasta around her fork. “Frankie’s theory is that I don’t like any of your dates because I’m jealous.”

“Oh,” said Maura again, feeling a little surprised. “Are you?” And of what, exactly, was she jealous?

At first, Jane just made a face. “Yes. I hate them. Even, no, _especially_ ones like Ian, who just float in and break your heart. And my brothers.”

Maura felt her face turn red. Speaking of her brothers “Frankie kissed me,” she said softly.

“Yeah, I know,” sighed Jane. She’d wanted Frankie to crawl in a hole and die for a week or so after he confessed that little tidbit. “But you just wanted to be friends.”

“Misplaced affection, actually.” Maura picked up and put down her wine glass. “I really don’t know what you’re trying to say, Jane.” That was mostly true. Maura had a feeling that this entire strange dance, reading those books at Maura’s, being nice about the date, maybe even suggesting that they all meet, was Jane’s round-about way of telling Maura she liked her. It would be easier if she dunked Maura’s pigtails in ink or something.

Jane took a deep breath, “It’s not just a haircut.”

“I’m sorry… what?” Maura laughed her confusion, but somehow felt infinitely better.

“I mean, it is just a haircut, but it’s not just that I got a haircut. I’m jealous of all your boyfriends, and girlfriends, GOD, am I jealous. I don’t like them because— Because they’re not me.”

Maura pursed her lips again and leaned back in the chair. Well now. That was a confession. She smiled slowly. “Jane, do you know what the difference is between them and you?”

Waving a hand angrily, Jane grumbled, “They’ve seen you naked in a fun way.”

“They asked me out.”

The hand wave became a finger, pointing at Jane. “Why do I have to do it? I don’t want to have to do all this.” She was whining.

“I seem to recall you saying you would be the, ah, guy in our relationship.”

Jane narrowed her eyes at Maura. “Don’t be so heteronormative, Maura.”

Laughing at the word, Maura picked up the wine and refilled their glasses. “I’m sorry, you’re right.”

“What was that?” Jane smiled in delight. “I was what?”

“You, Jane Rizzoli, were right. I made assumptions and acted on them, instead of engaging in a scientific evaluation of my hypothesis. To whit, Jane Rizzoli is not exclusively heterosexual. Point made.” Maura held up her glass. “The question of if you’re into me has also been answered.”

Jane looked a little confused, but picked up her glass. “I’m putting myself out there, Maura. And … If I just killed sleepovers, I understand.”

Smiling, Maura shook her head. “You did not.” Jane’s mouth made an ‘oh’ shape, but she didn’t speak. “Your haircut makes you look absolutely stunning. But I’m afraid I’ve had feeling for you for far longer, Jane.”

They shared a look of both embarrassment and delight. “We’re the worst detectives ever,” decided Jane, reaching over to tink her glass to Maura’s.

“Technically,” corrected Maura, “I’m a medical examiner.” Jane opened her mouth to sling a reply at Maura, but she went on. “I’ve just broken up with someone, and it would be a little rude to use you as a rebound Jane.”

That shut Jane up for a moment. “Okay, that’s… I don’t agree, but yeah, okay, that makes sense.” She sipped the wine. “Casual dates. Like this?”

Maura thought about that for a moment. “They would be distressingly awkward, you know.”

“You think?” Jane smiled. “Real dates end in kissing.”

“Getting a little ahead of yourself, there, Jane,” smiled Maura. “We haven’t even established a date yet.” She turned her shoulder a little, feeling at ease in her own skin now. Joking with Jane and flirting with Jane were comfortable.

Now Jane leant back in her chair, smirking. “I think you should ask me out, since I’ve already done the hard work here.” Maura protested, but Jane explained, “I figured out about you, and I outed you to us, _and_ I just told you that I like women too, or at least you, so at this point, you need to do some of the heavy lifting!”

She had a point, Maura had to agree. “Fine. Would you like to go out to dinner next week?”

“Is that enough time to get over Lucy?”

There was only one possible answer here, and Maura smiled. “Lucy who?”

Jane smiled, abruptly shyly, and nodded. “Well. Yes. But you’re going to have to help me with one thing.”

“Anything.”

“What the hell do you wear with short hair, when you want to totally impress this hot doctor you’re going on a date with?”

Maura tossed her head back and laughed, “Jane Rizzoli. It’s _just_ a haircut.”


End file.
